


Benefits of Boredom

by Writingwife83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Drama, F/M, Friendship/Love, Regency Romance, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 114,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writingwife83/pseuds/Writingwife83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlolly, Warstan, and Mythea Regency AU- Sherlock Holmes prefers London to the country, so he isn't happy about the prospect of spending a summer with his family at their country estate. He hopes that some beekeeping will keep him entertained. But he also meets Miss Molly Hooper, daughter of the town's doctor. Maybe the summer will end up being more eventful than he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on Fanfiction.net as I was writing it. Now that it's complete, I'm putting it on here for those of you who would prefer this site, or want to download. :) I won't be including the author's notes though. They don't matter quite as much now that the fic can be read as a whole. If you're super interested in my silly ramblings before and after a chapter, you're welcome to check them out on Fanfic. I just felt like I wanted to keep this version uncluttered for those who will download it to a device. Hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear feedback or questions! ;)

Bees...that was the best he could come up with.

_Bees,_ Sherlock thought with an internal groan as he walked through the grass.

If there was one thing he hated, it was boredom. And it seemed likely that a summer in the country would have plenty of that to offer. It wasn't his choice. And he was rather convinced that nobody was really pleased with the idea. Well, nobody except mummy.

Sherlock loved the city of London. It was alive, strange, disturbing, and fascinating. There were always things to be discovered, and mysteries to be solved. There was activity, and that was enough. The country offered beauty and serenity...both of which left Sherlock feeling a bit unfulfilled.

But this was what Mummy wanted, and so it had to be done. She'd announced a couple months back that the family _must_ spend the summer at the Sussex estate, Seaborne. She was experiencing a recent worsening of her gout, and though she wished to see her children, she didn't feel she'd be able to travel to the city. Her doctor had specifically told her not to attempt it, in fact. So that settled it. She had all but demanded that Sherlock, Mycroft, and his new wife Anthea, spend the summer at Seaborne.

It had long been a complaint of Lady Holmes' anyway, that her children mostly stayed away from the country. Mycroft made brief visits to take care of what was needed, being the owner of the property since the death of his father some years before, but he also had a home in London which allowed him to stay closely connected to affairs of state. His wife apparently wanted to be close to her husband for now, though Sherlock deduced that she would soon be running off to Sussex to live with her mother in law. Clearly Mycroft wasn't going to make much effort to keep her in London.

The Holmes' cousin Mary Morstan would be there throughout the summer as well. She had lately moved to Seaborne. She had suffered a bit of social disgrace in the past year, and was doing her best to pick up her life and move along again. Lady Holmes insisted that she stay with the family, in hopes that through association and with some time, her position in society could be at least partially mended.

Sherlock lived in his quiet little flat on Baker Street in London, thus allowing him to work alongside Scotland Yard as a consulting detective, much to his brother's constant shame. Mycroft desperately tried to encourage Sherlock toward the military, or the clergy, but Sherlock was having none of it. He was a detective. He had always been a detective. He didn't choose to be one, he simply was. And he didn't care one bit about how it made his brother look.

In the month before they were expected at Seaborne, he was given some books by his housekeeper Mrs. Hudson. She had been neatening up his personal office, and had discovered a few that he had loved as a child. They were on the subject of beekeeping. Sherlock had forgotten his brief period of interest in the subject, and began perusing the volumes again. He recalled that as a child he had begged his parents to let him keep bees, but they had refused, saying he was too young.

Sherlock's interest was renewed as he began rereading them, and he had immediately set about getting bee skeps and hackles delivered to their country estate. He hoped that it would be a little something to occupy his time and, with any luck, he'd actually harvest some honey before they returned to London in Autumn.

He'd decided, for a couple reasons, to travel to Seaborne a bit before the rest of the party. For one thing, he wanted to inspect the skeps that had been already set up. And he also had no desire to spend the entire ride in such close proximity to his brother. The ride was tedious enough as it was.

Sherlock had taken a brief walk about the inside of the grand estate once he'd arrived. His mother was apparently taking an afternoon nap, and Mary was out riding, so he wasn't obligated to greet them yet. The staff was busily freshening the place up and preparing for the rest of the family's arrival. Sherlock hadn't much desire to spend time inside though. He wanted to check on what was waiting for him outside. The skeps and hackles had been placed well beyond the front lawn and topiary garden, at the request of his mother. She didn't want them at all close to the house, and didn't want them causing any trouble for her or anyone else in the small party.

Sherlock left the front entrance of Seaborne and began the long walk out to where the bees hopefully were. He began mentally composing a letter to his friend, Dr. John Watson, as he walked. He needed to make sure that Watson didn't lag behind in London for too long.

He decided that it was his friend's responsibility to spend the majority of the summer here as well. He'd informed him of this the week before leaving London...

* * *

_"How is this such a terrible problem, Holmes? Seaborne is lovely, and it's a beautiful countryside! I can think of a lot worse than spending three months there!" Watson tossed some papers aside on Sherlock's desk in some frustration and sighed at his friend's "problem."_

_Sherlock jumped up from his seat and waved his hands around as he stomped about the room. "London is a bustle of activity in the summer, Watson! There's always things to do and ways to occupy my mind. I'm going to miss all of it! I'm likely to die of boredom in the country!"_

_"Oh honestly, Holmes, do not be dramatic! There will be plenty to do. I'm sure your mother will throw some parties, and you'll see people you haven't seen in years perhaps. You can deduce all sorts of shocking things about them, and make lots of new enemies. How is that not entertainment for you?"_

_Sherlock stopped walking and_ _placed_ _his palms on his friend's desk to lean over and give him a menacing stare. "You will be joining us! I will not be left alone with my family for that long!"_

_John sighed in exasperation. "Look, I really just got my leg back in action, I can't push it too much...you'd better not make me walk for miles around that countryside!"_

_"Oh excellent!" Sherlock clapped his hands as he stood again. "You'll join us no later than the end of June then, yes? Wonderful! I'll tell my mother that her favorite eligible doctor will be joining the party. She'll be sure to include lots of young ladies in the guest list of whatever parties she throws."_

_Dr. Watson cracked a smile. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? I probably would have agreed sooner...though are you sure those young ladies wouldn't be included for the benefit of her youngest son?" He raised his eyebrows at Sherlock in teasing._

_Sherlock let out a little chuckle as he put his hat back on and fixed his collar. "Oh, thankfully I believe my mother has almost completely given up hope in that regard. She's also still basking in the glow of shock and joy at Mycroft's marriage to Anthea. That should last her quite a while. But now that you mention it, it is possible she would have hopes that this summer will end in an engagement for myself as well...again, it will prove most useful to have you there. She could focus all her matchmaking energies in your direction instead." Sherlock grinned at his friend, pleased at his plan._

_Watson shook his head and laughed as his friend took his leave..._

* * *

Sherlock walked past the freshly manicured gardens, and into the wilder parts of their land. He saw the half dozen hackles sitting there right where he was told they would be. And he had brought with him the necessary protective clothes. There was a jacket, gloves, and a hat with a veil.

He decided that he'd really like to get a closer look. He was incredibly curious as to whether bees had taken up residence yet. There wouldn't be much to do at this point, but he wanted to take a peek. He decided against bothering with the jacket. He instead put on the hat and veil, and the gloves.

Sherlock gingerly took off the hackle. He looked inside, examining the flurry of activity that was going on. The gentle buzz was the only sound he could hear. He envied the fact that these creatures are always occupied and never feel bored.

As he leaned down to examine closer, the edge of the mesh veil hung further away from his body. This created the space for a bee to unfortunately fly up into the protective hat.

Sherlock quickly noticed this, and at first he did exactly what one is supposed to do. He stayed perfectly still and calm. He decided to gently lift the hat from off his head. He figured that after he did this, he would just carefully replace the hackle over the skep, and then make his exit. But once he'd removed the hat and was in the process of lowering his arms, he knocked over the hackle, tripped trying to grab it, and actually bumped into the skep that sat atop the wooden bench.

He quickly picked up the hackle again and placed it over the skep...but the damage had clearly already been done. He realized it the split second before he felt the first sting on his forearm. A few bees had bravely taken it upon themselves to rid their home of this six foot tall threat.

After he felt a second and third sting in quick succession, Sherlock began to realize that standing still and remaining calm was no longer going to do much good. He really just needed to get away. And that's exactly what he did. Sherlock headed straight for the pond...

He shed some layers as he ran. His coat came off and was thrown to the side. His waistcoat came next, and just as he reached the water, he had pulled his cravat off and thrown it on the ground as well. It wasn't as if he cared so much about his clothing, but he didn't want to make himself sink to the bottom of the pond with the extra weight either.

Just as he reached the edge of the water, he paused to quickly kick off his shoes, but the bees who had followed him were still not pleased. So right before he dove into the pond, he felt one more bee exact revenge at the base of his neck...

* * *

Molly Hooper hummed softly to herself as she walked across the hills. She'd always enjoyed walking, and she was pleased that the weather was becoming warm enough to make it more pleasant now. Even the spring had made for some chilly walks, especially in the morning and evening.

She'd been doing a lot more walking and riding the past few months. Her father, Dr. Nicolas Hooper, had been experiencing more and more trouble keeping up with all his patients. Molly was almost as qualified to care for the basic needs of her father's patients as he was. And most of them trusted her. Her father may clean and stitch a wound, but Molly would be the one to call two more times and change the bandage while checking to make sure the site was healing properly.

It was foolish to deny the fact that her father's health was failing. He had become convinced of the fact that cancer was spreading in his body. Molly knew that her father was no fool, and if he believed this to be the case, he was probably right.

Nicholas Hooper was an excellent and well respected physician. He'd practiced for much of his young life in London, and was widely regarded as highly skilled. It was only after the tragic death of his wife, by child bed fever shortly after the birth of their daughter Molly, that Dr. Hooper decided it best to live in the country. It was difficult enough for the man to continue practicing medicine, but at the very least, he wanted to get out of the city and lead a quieter life. He used all the resources he had to acquire a small bit of land and a home for himself and his daughter. And from then forward, he had come to be a much loved Doctor to mostly the landed gentry in the area. And that included Lady Holmes and her household.

It was best that he hadn't remained in the city, since his health had been taking a steady decline in the past year. Molly did what she always did. She remained positive and strong. It was what her father needed, and she refused to give in to feelings of despair when that would do nothing to mend him. Deep down, being the woman that she was, she believed that if she did what was needed and put her whole heart into it, things would get better. She was optimistic to a fault.

Molly took the shawl off her shoulders and let the sun hit her arms and neck as she walked the dirt path. She cut through a patch of trees and took another turn as she came upon the edge of Seaborne.

She was in the habit of cutting through some of the land on Seaborne. It made for some of the nicest views, and it also cut a good ten minutes off her trip home from many places she tended to walk to and from.

As Molly passed over a small hill, the grand house came into view...and she was sure she saw a number of people out and about around the grounds. She stopped to squint and look more closely. As she watched from a distance, she became convinced that there was much more activity going on than she'd seen in a very long time. Lady Holmes kept quietly to herself, and didn't throw parties anymore. She hadn't done so in many years, since the whole family had been there regularly.

From what Molly saw, she began guessing that there would soon be, or perhaps already was, more inhabitants at Seaborne.

* * *

Sherlock's whole body sunk down in the waters of the pond with a splash. His feet quickly touched the bottom, and he made a mental note that he remembered this pond to be a lot deeper the last time he'd been in it...perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was thirteen at the time. He stayed under for as long as he could possibly hold his breath, opening his eyes briefly and looking around him. Finally, when he had to, he surfaced and shook his head a bit. He wiped the water from his eyes and took deep breaths. He could feel the sting sites on his body burning, so he didn't feel much rush to exit the cool water. He took a deep breath and fell backwards again, letting the water cradle his body. He lay floating, staring up into the shockingly bright blue of the sky. His ears were submerged and filled with the sounds of the pond water...so he naturally didn't hear the footsteps that weren't too far away.

* * *

Molly continued on, and was about to veer off to leave the area of Seaborne, but then she caught sight of some movement out of the corner of her eye.

Through a few trees, she saw something moving in the shimmering pond to her left. Molly stopped and turned to look. Yes, she was sure there was something in that pond. Her instinct to help drove her to walk closer, wanting to make sure that it wasn't a child in need of assistance. But as she moved past the branches, and came into the clearing, what she saw surprised her.

There was indeed someone in the pond...but it was a grown man. He floated lazily on his back, and as Molly took a few steps closer, she could clearly make out the fact that he was almost fully clothed. She almost let out a laugh, wondering what in the world he was doing.

Though, very soon, any possibility of laughter faded away...because the man set his feet down and stood up.

Molly felt her jaw go slack as he stood up in a shallower part of the pond, and ran his hands roughly through his dark curly hair, shaking some of the excess water out. His white shirt hung heavily against his back, and she was pretty sure there wasn't even one muscle that she couldn't see perfectly outlined. He examined something on his arm, and Molly continued to remain statue still, not sure what to do with herself. She wasn't really even wondering what to do actually...she was completely transfixed. But her mind came back to her a bit, when the man in the pond turned around and caught sight of her standing there.

The man's blue green piercing eyes connected with Molly's wide brown ones, and despite the fact that he was standing in the water with a soaking wet open shirt and partially bared chest, she was the one who felt completely exposed under his gaze. She may as well have been without a stitch of clothing. It was as if he was looking right through her...but missing nothing along the way. It was one of the most pleasantly unnerving feelings she'd ever experienced.

Molly finally forced her lips together again and she swallowed hard before attempting to open her mouth again. "H-hello," she said, attempting to sound relaxed.

The corner of the man's mouth crept up just a touch and he frowned a little, clearly wondering who she was. "Yes...hello...and you are?"

"Molly Hooper, sir. I, um, was just passing through. Forgive the intrusion, but I thought perhaps someone might need help. I see though, you're...just fine," she said with a little nod.

"I believe I'll live, yes," he answered without looking back at her, and began to trudge his way out of the water with his heavy sopping clothes.

As he came up onto the bank, Molly noticed one of his sting sites. She saw the red swollen mark at his neck.

"Oh...are you alright? What happened to your neck?" she asked with a grimace.

Sherlock touched the skin and winced. "Ah yes, there's one of them. I was forced to take a quick swim in an effort to escape some unhappy bees. Though, as you can see, I didn't escape unscathed."

"Did you say, 'that's one of them?' How many times were you stung?" As she spoke, Molly set down her father's medical bag and took a couple steps closer to the man.

Sherlock shrugged and looked at his arm again, at that sting site. "A few times I believe."

"Perhaps you'd allow me to take a look. You really should make sure the stingers are out. They'll get better so much faster. I can remove them if needed." She went to pick up the case again.

"I'm sure I can manage," he said casually as he flopped down onto the grass.

"You'll have a difficult time seeing...at least the one on your neck. I do...know what I'm doing."

Sherlock looked up from his place on the grass and narrowed his eyes, deducing her more carefully. _Small but strong hands that clearly work daily, bag containing medical equipment, immediate attempt to assist with an injury...some sort of medical experience and background...Hooper...Dr. Hooper...this must be a female relative of his. Most likely his daughter._

"Yes, clearly you do...alright." He gestured with his gaze to the grass beside him.

Molly came forward right away and took a seat facing him. She met his gaze briefly, but then focused on getting a pair of tweezers out of her bag. As she did, she asked, "Are you...Lord Holmes?"

"No, thank God. You're thinking of my brother, Lord Mycroft Holmes. He'll be arriving within the week as well...Forgive me, my name is Sherlock Holmes."

"I see. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes," she smiled. "So, where exactly were you stung? I see the one on your neck."

Sherlock held his arm out. "There's this one here, and then there's another here." He pulled the soggy fabric of his shirt aside to reveal another red welt on the right side of his upper chest. "And I believe there's another on my back."

"Alright, well let's start with the arm, shall we?" Molly held out her hand and he placed his forearm in it. She wrapped her fingers around the cool damp skin of his arm and leaned down to inspect the sting. "Hold still, this will only take a second. I can see the stinger..."

"There!" she held the tiny point up in the tweezers. "Removing the stinger should help almost immediately. Give it a few minutes and it should look and feel much better."

"I suppose I should get used to this. I'm toying with some beekeeping." He turned his head to give her easier access to the sting on his neck.

"Are you? How fascinating..." Molly placed her fingers gently on his neck as she leaned in with the tweezers, and she began to feel more nervous than she had when working on his arm. She had loads of experience working on her father's patients, and nothing really shook her anymore...but this...this felt different. She didn't usually feel her hands involuntarily shake when working.

Sherlock seemed rather unaffected by the contact and kept his head to the side as she finally got a good hold on the little stinger and managed to keep her eyes focused on pulling it out, instead of allowing herself to be distracted by his visible pulse point that was moving beautifully right near her fingers.

"Ok, two more to go," she said, discarding the second stinger. She gingerly pulled the damp shirt aside to reveal the third sting site and momentarily met his eyes as she did. She began to feel a blush creeping into her face and desperately hoped he wouldn't notice.

"Your father is a doctor," he suddenly said in a low voice, and she felt the words vibrate against her hand that was placed on his chest near the red wound.

"Y-yes, that's right, he is. Do you know him?" she asked as she moved in a bit closer.

"I remember him. I haven't seen him in years though. I think the last time I'd seen him for myself was a bout of measles when I was a child...I believe my mother considers him to be an excellent doctor. She certainly listens to his council."

Molly could detect a negative tone in his voice. "And that's...not good?"

"In this case, perhaps not. Your father apparently advised against her traveling this summer. She then demanded that my brother and I spend the summer here instead...not exactly my first choice," he sighed, and she felt him jump ever so slightly as she pulled that stinger out.

"Sorry...got it though. Only one left."

Sherlock swiveled around without being asked, and automatically pulled his shirt up in the back, letting it rest over his shoulders. Molly was incredibly grateful that he couldn't see her face, because she knew it was now very red indeed. She gulped quickly, and then placed her hand below the sting and leaned forward. He moved his arms a bit and she not only saw, but _felt_ the muscles in his back contract. Molly stopped while pressing her lips together, with the tweezers poised, and she actually had to close her eyes for a moment.

"Do you see it?" he asked, noticing that she'd paused.

Molly opened her eyes and took a breath. "Yes, um, I do...just a moment." She concentrated harder then, and found the stinger, pulling it out quickly. "There. All done!"

Sherlock rolled his shoulders backward, causing his shirt to fall down over his back again, then he turned again. He lifted his arm and examined the site that had first been relieved of the stinger. "Mmm, looking a bit less red and swollen."

"Yes, it helps rather quickly. If you get the stinger out, you can at least limit how much of the bee's venom you absorb. So, timing is important...you'll want to remember that if you're going to be keeping bees. I'd imagine this won't be your last bee sting."

Sherlock stood and reached a hand down to pull her up as well. Molly took the offer, feeling like his large hand practically swallowed up her much smaller one. She was pulled to a stand, and quickly took a step back because of how close she then was to him. Molly looked away and smoothed the fabric of her blue pin striped dress.

"I am still getting used to beekeeping, it's true. So yes, I'm sure this won't be my last incident. Though I have learned to be a bit less careless next time." Sherlock gave her a small smile as he clasped his hands behind his back.

His dark hair had dried a bit in the sun, and was shining now. A few curls fell across his brow, and Molly was struck by this feeling of wanting to reach out and touch them. She'd never felt something like that before. She couldn't ever recall having the sudden inappropriate desire to simply reach out and touch a man...and a man she'd just met only minutes before! Molly felt the heat pooling in her cheeks again and had to look away.

"Give your father my regards, though I imagine he remembers me as a nothing more than child. Perhaps I'll be able to meet him properly over the summer."

"Perhaps," she answered with a tight smile, and her gaze faltered a bit.

Sherlock picked up on it. It was subtle, but he saw it. _There's something wrong...she's concerned for him. Slight darkening under her eyes from fatigue, hands having been worked more often now than in years past, making visits to patients using her father's medical supplies, slight sadness at the mention of my meeting her father...he's unwell...could be serious._

"And you often walk through Seaborne?" he questioned.

Molly looked a little embarrassed. "Oh, um, well yes. It's a bit of a short cut. This is really the only area where I walk across." She pointed beyond them through the trees.

"It's fine," he said simply. "I was merely asking."

Molly found this Mr. Holmes to be slightly intimidating to converse with, and she was afraid it turned her into a bit of a fool. It was difficult to control though. He was just so tall, and handsome, and his eyes seemed to cut through her like a knife, and his voice...

"I should perhaps be going inside to fetch some dry clothes," he said, breaking through her thoughts.

"Yes of course! I didn't mean to keep you," she said, suddenly becoming self conscious. "I'll certainly tell my father you said hello, and perhaps we'll see you again."

"Good day, Miss Hooper, and thank you for the assistance." He gave her a small nod, but his expression was very difficult to read.

"My pleasure, Mr. Holmes," she said with a warm smile.

Molly turned and walked away briskly, having the self control not to look back, and wondering if _this_ was the feeling. This had to be it...that feeling she'd heard about, and read about, and wondered if she'd ever get to experience. She had no idea that being around a man could literally make it difficult to breathe. As she kept walking, she couldn't help but wonder how very many young women had their breath stolen away by the presence of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The numbers would surely make her head spin. He was the sort of man she couldn't even begin to hope for.

And yet, rather unconsciously, there was indeed a hope that had almost immediately planted itself like a seed in her heart. It took root more quickly than she'd like to admit.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes walked away that summer day, and looked down at his arm again. The red welt had shrunk down even more now, and was looking far less angry. He touched his neck and felt that the swelling there had also decreased.

He didn't tend to enjoy making the acquaintance of new people...but he did enjoy the unusual. And that was an unusual woman. A woman connected to the medical field...fascinating. She would perhaps be less dull than some of the other people he'd no doubt be forced to associate with this summer. He would be happy to take any bit of entertainment he could manage.

Sherlock stopped to pick up his discarded shoes, jacket, vest, and cravat as he made his way back across the grounds. And unlike Miss Hooper, Sherlock did turn to look.

As he ascended the large stone steps of Seaborne, he stopped and looked out across the expanse of land. As he did, he caught a glimpse of the now very small form of Molly Hooper disappearing over a hill. He watched quietly for a moment, then he turned and entered his home.

And thus began Sherlock Holmes' _boring_ summer in the country...

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock sighed loudly, doing nothing to conceal his irritation.

"Oh, stop it, Sherlock! You've endured far worse!" his mother scolded. "Did you honestly think I wasn't going to be throwing any parties this summer?"

"Oh no, I assure you, I quite expected it. Thus my sigh of frustration at being correct." Sherlock threw his mother a sardonic smile.

"You enjoy dancing, why are you complaining?" Lady Holmes asked in exasperation.

"It's not the dancing I dislike. It's the people, and the conversation, and the finding out how dim **-** witted all such people are. And then there's the ridiculous expectations." Sherlock got out of his chair and moved over to the window.

"Ah yes," Mycroft Holmes chimed in. "How disappointing for the ladies to find that their dance partner couldn't be less interested in them."

Sherlock shot his brother a glare. "Yes, how fortunate for you, brother, that you no longer need to impress young ladies. A weight off your mind, I'm sure. Perhaps that's why you bothered to wake up one morning and take those blessed vows!"

Mycroft scowled at Sherlock.

"That's enough, boys!" Lady Holmes sighed. "You're old enough to behave like grown men."

"Where is Anthea?" Mycroft asked, looking up from his desk.

"She went riding with Mary this morning, I believe...Poor dear Mary. Perhaps she'll be ready to show her face again once I throw a party."

"Don't you mean, perhaps _you'll_ be ready for her to show her face?" Sherlock asked.

It was his mother's turn to scowl at him now.

"If you want to restore her previous position in society, it would be somewhat unwise to forever hide her away. What is it you're afraid of? Nobody will speak to you ever again?" Sherlock asked flippantly as he took up his violin and bow.

His mother's voice hardened as she answered him. "Perhaps, Sherlock, it is my fear that I will make an impact on the sort of lady that would be willing to marry into our family! If you had any sense about you, you would be concerned about the very same thing!"

"I think you know very well that I don't care about such a thing, and never will," he said casually, as he began playing the instrument and turned his back to both his family members.

Lady Holmes let out a huff and began fanning herself. "It's no wonder my health suffers! The two of you will certainly be the death of me...one way or another!"

* * *

Molly set some of her father's freshly cleaned tools out, ready to be carefully packed away in his case. Dr. Hooper was going out to see Lady Holmes, and these days, Molly always worried when her father left the house.

He wasn't the sort of man to lay down and give up in the face of illness though, and Molly hesitated to ask him to do so. If this made him happy and he still found joy in caring for the health of others, even when his own was failing, then so be it. She worried for him, but didn't want to take away his work. The work mattered so much to him; it was a source of much pride and satisfaction. And she'd recently learned he wasn't the only man who felt that way.

It had been a fortnight since her strange encounter with Mr. Holmes at Seaborne. Since then, the buzz around town had spread, and everyone was talking about both of the Holmes men being back. Most of the talk was naturally about the younger Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He was intriguing, handsome, rich...and unmarried. All of those things made him a more than fascinating topic of conversation. At twenty eight, he was rather old to have remained single. There was plenty of speculation on that topic, of course. Mostly, people were guessing that it stemmed from his choice in work. It wasn't until some days after Molly's meeting him that she learned of his being a detective, and having worked with Scotland Yard for some time now. She'd heard some of the ladies in town discussing it while running a few errands at one of the local shops, but the conversation didn't offer her much information on that topic. The ladies weren't at all interested in dwelling on his detective work. They quickly shifted the focus back to his fortune and looks.

Molly had faded into the background as the women continued to talk. She couldn't deny the fact that he was beautiful to look at, but what she was absolutely dying to know more about was his work with Scotland Yard. No man of his birth and fortune _had_ to do that. Which meant that he must do it simply for the enjoyment. She'd never heard of such a thing before, and it fascinated her. She could only imagine some of the horrors and atrocities he'd encountered. And she had to admit, that fascinated her as well. What she wouldn't give to hear him talk all about it...

And of course, it wouldn't hurt to have the enjoyment of his eyes focusing on her once again. Recalling the way he'd looked at her by the pond made her lips curl in a secret smile. She didn't fool herself into believing that he'd demonstrated any sort of real interest, but that didn't change the fact that his gaze was one of the most intense and beautiful she'd ever seen. She kept picturing it in her mind, and hoping that she'd be able to see it again before long.

"And what exactly are you smiling about?" Nicholas Hooper asked with a sly smile of his own as he entered his office.

Molly's eyes shot up from the tools in her hands, and she felt her cheeks instantly get hot. "Oh, nothing...nothing really." She pressed her lips together to prevent the involuntary smiling as she looked back down at the table.

Her father chuckled softly. "Alright, whatever you say, my dear." He knew her well enough to know she was lying, but didn't press her any further. She was a grown woman now, and he couldn't very well demand to know everything. "Are we prepared for the day?"

"Almost, father, yes. Just a moment, and I'll get my wrap," she said with a nod and smile. "Why don't you sit down and rest while I finish getting ready?" Her face turned to worry as her father began to cough into his handkerchief.

"I'm fine, I'm fine! No need to fuss," he said with a wave of his hand. "I'll just step outside and enjoy the sunshine while I wait for you."

Molly watched him leave the room while he continued coughing a bit. This cough had been going on far too long, and it was becoming more bothersome for him. She knew what it meant...but she didn't _want_ to know what it meant.

Molly took a deep cleansing breath, trying to clear her mind of the troubling thoughts, then she put the last of her father **'** s tools in his bag. She took the neatly packed leather satchel and went to fetch her wrap.

* * *

"You're an excellent rider. I'll enjoy having you here this summer!" Mary said happily as she and Anthea ascended the steps of Seaborne.

"I'm glad to be here. I think I'm going to enjoy a break from the city. I need some fresh air and some quiet. There's so much noise and activity in London, I can barely hear myself think! But Mycroft is rather busy with business and I did want to stay with him."

"Well of course you did," Mary said sweetly, and hooked her arm into Anthea's. "Not easy to leave your new husband, I'm sure. Though I can imagine he's not always easy to live with."

Anthea smiled shyly and looked down.

"It's alright, I know them as if they were my own brothers. You can always confide in me, I hope you know. We are family now, after all."

"I'm glad, Mary, really I am. I appreciate your friendship, and concern. It is, naturally, a bit difficult to speak to Mycroft about my feelings at times."

Mary laughed a little as they stopped at the large door. "With those men, yes I suppose it would be difficult. But don't be afraid. Sometimes the Holmes just need a bit of a...push." She winked at Anthea.

The two woman entered the home and a servant collected their coats and gloves. They were greeted by the sound of some aggressive violin music. Mary raised her eyebrows at Anthea and smiled as they made their way into the sitting room.

"Ah, there they are! Anthea, you look absolutely exhausted! Perhaps you should have a seat." Lady Holmes gestures to the couch nearby.

"Thank you, I'm perfectly well." Anthea gave her mama-in-law a sweet smile, knowing that the concern for her wellbeing stemmed from the hopes of another little Holmes in the not to **o** distant future. Her gaze shifted to her husband, who had not yet looked up from his desk to acknowledge her.

"Has anyone called for tea?" Mary asked Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at her in the midst of continuing to play his interment. "I asked for it. It'll arrive soon enough...A shame Watson won't make it till much later."

"Ah yes, we will so enjoy having such a sweet and cheerful man about the house, won't we ladies?" Lady Holmes asked the room, and gave both her sons pointed looks. Neither one of them responded.

"I look forward to meeting him," Mary remarked as she took a seat by the window.

"Oh **,** I do keep forgetting you've not met Dr. Watson, Mary! I believe you were...otherwise engaged when he'd returned from the war. And Sherlock keeps the poor man so busy, he's not had a chance to spend much time with us here at Seaborne!"

"Do not turn him into some sort of a victim! Watson enjoys solving crimes, Mother. Not that he does much of the solving, I suppose." Sherlock set his violin down as he saw the tea being brought in.

"Will you have tea, darling?" Anthea sweetly asked her husband.

"Perhaps in a while," Mycroft answered her flatly, barely making eye contact.

Anthea hesitated for a moment, perhaps waiting for anything more than the measly amount of attention she'd just been granted, then took a seat next to Mary and settled in. Mary reached over on the couch and gave her hand a small pat. Anyone could see that Anthea was making an effort, but it wasn't being very well received.

The four adults had their tea in the sunny room and didn't speak much till Lady Holmes rang the bell for assistance.

"I'm going to retire to my room. Dr. Hooper should be here shortly, and I'll see him upstairs," she explained to the servants who came in.

The two women began helping Lady Holmes up. She soon disappeared out the door, and was heard ascending the stairs with some difficulty.

Sherlock groaned as he let his head fall against the back of the chair he sat in. "How long have I been here? How much more of the summer is left?"

Mary giggled. "You've been here very little time, and you have a very long way to go. How does that suit you?" She smirked at him.

"Do not spare my feelings **,** cousin," he answered with a playfully raised eyebrow.

"Why would I? You rarely bestow that sort of luxury on the rest of us!" she laughed.

"This summer will be tedious enough. I don't believe we need to hear your constant complaining, Sherlock," Mycroft added from his desk in the corner.

"I think it's lovely here," Anthea said with a pleasant smile.

"You may certainly stay as long as you wish," was her husband's answer as his head dipped back down to the work at his desk.

Anthea's smile fell away slowly and she looked at her folded hands in her lap.

Mary had to bite her tongue. She knew she was the only one in this household aware of the difficulty Anthea was experiencing being Lord Mycroft Holmes new wife. Sherlock cared nothing for such soft feelings, Lady Holmes was at most concerned about how soon a grandchild would be produced, and Mycroft himself was especially disconnected from his spouse. Mary wondered how she would bear to watch the whole sorry dynamic all summer long. She hoped that this Dr. John Watson was as kind and reasonable a gentleman as everyone claimed him to be. Perhaps he would bring a bit of balance to the household. Though based on his close friendship with Sherlock, Mary still harbored her doubts.

* * *

Molly walked up the stone steps with her father and felt her heart rate increase steadily. She told herself it was silly. She'd only met Mr. Holmes once, there was nothing to expect, perhaps they wouldn't even see him, and she had no real reason to be nervous. But for all her internal convincing, she was still having a difficult time calming down.

"Are you quite alright, my dear?" her father asked with a frown as he examined her expression and body language.

"Oh, yes, of course!" Molly laughed nervously. "Why wouldn't I be alright? I'm perfectly fine!"

Her father smiled, trying not to laugh at her in return. "Oh good...lovely." The man knew his daughter, and was far from convinced.

A servant received them at the door and ushered them in. Molly walked through the large hall and heard beautiful violin music as they went up the stairs to call on Lady Holmes. She'd rarely gone inside Seaborne before. Lady Holmes hadn't required visits much, and in the past Molly hadn't felt as compelled to accompany her father either, since his health had been better.

Dr. Hooper examined Lady Holmes and assured her that the gout was subsiding for now. He encouraged her to avoid rich foods and wine, though he'd said such things to her in the past and was sure she'd ignored his advice. He also gave her a mineral mixture to soak with in the bath.

"Do try to keep it elevated. You'll only irritate it if you walk on it excessively."

Lady Holmes nodded and smiled. "Oh yes, of course. I've been very cautious. And you see I've brought my summer entertainment to me this year! I'll not be traveling, just as you suggested."

"An excellent decision, Lady Holmes. And you must be so glad to have the guests. I'd heard your sons were here."

"They are. As is my daughter **-** in **-** law, and my niece. You should introduce yourself on your way out! And Miss Hooper as well," she added, giving the doctor's daughter a token smile.

"Thank you, we will. Now, be sure to send for me if anything worsens. Myself or my daughter will be happy to call and check in." He smiled at Molly, then back at Lady Holmes. But then he began to cough and had to pause a moment.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" Lady Holmes asked, concern written on her face. Dr. Hooper tried to say he was, but the coughing was continuing, so he wasn't very convincing. She waved at the servant by the door. "Lucy, take Doctor Hooper and his daughter downstairs and offer them some tea. We can't send you off on the road with such a cough!"

"You're very kind," Dr. Hooper managed to wheeze out. "Thank you. It's nothing though, really. I'll be fine."

"Nonsense. You'll have some tea before you leave, and that's final. You'll have to excuse me though, I think I'll stay upstairs for a bit."

"Thank you **,** Lady Holmes," Molly offered with a smile, as her father was having some difficulty catching his breath at the moment. She hooked her arm into her fathers and they both left the room, following the servant girl through the hall, and back down the stairs.

"Father, you've done too much again today," Molly said to him in a hushed voice.

"Don't be silly, Molly. I've made one visit! That is hardly doing too much. I will not lay in bed all day, you know I won't!" He coughed a bit more.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I can't help but worry though. This keeps happening, and I don't want to see you wear yourself out completely."

Dr. Hooper made no answer as they kept walking. The real answer was that he _would_ wear himself out before too long. His body would wear out, and there was nothing he, Molly, or anyone else could do about it. But he didn't want to say that to her.

They were ushered into the beautiful and sunny sitting room where there were four other people present.

"Dr. Hooper and Miss Molly Hooper," the servant announced. "Lady Holmes invited them to have some tea before leaving."

Despite the fact that Lord Mycroft Holmes appeared rather superior, he gave a small smile and gestured to some of the chairs. "A pleasure Dr. Hooper, Miss Hooper. Do sit down. More tea is on its way...I am Lord Mycroft Holmes, and this is my brother Sherlock Holmes, my wife Anthea, and our cousin Mary Morstan."

Thanks were offered as Molly and her father took a seat. Dr. Hooper continued to cough a bit in his handkerchief and Molly tried not to smother him too much with worry. Molly's gaze also kept flickering over to the further end of the room where Sherlock sat with his fingers uniquely positioned beneath his chin. She was pulled from her thoughts by the voice of the lovely blond woman who sat nearby.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said with a warm smile at Molly.

"Thank you, yes. It's a pleasure to meet you. We appreciate your hospitality."

Molly tried not to react, but she heard a rather exaggerated sigh come from Sherlock. She thought she saw Mary's face contort slightly in irritation before she cleared her throat and took another sip of tea.

Molly and her father were served some tea and began drinking quietly. Dr. Hooper's coughing was calmed for a while and he looked more relaxed as he sipped the hot liquid.

"Is it an easy distance for you to travel from your home?" Anthea asked.

"Oh yes, quite easy. I usually walk, in fact. It's lovely countryside for walking," Molly answered.

Dr Hooper began to cough a bit again, and his breathing was labored.

"Did you walk today?" Mary asked, clearly concerned about the man.

"We rode today. I wouldn't ask my father to walk so far. I think I enjoy the outdoors a bit more then him." Molly gave his hand a squeeze.

"No." Sherlock's voice cut in suddenly, but he didn't turn to look at them. "You're concerned for him."

Mary looked embarrassed again and tried to simply move along. "And you enjoy working with your father, Miss Hooper?"

"Um, I do, yes." Molly answered, more nervously now.

"I think that's just lovely. You must be very smart to help him with such things. And brave too!"

"Oh no!" Molly blushed. "It's nothing. I just enjoy it, that's all."

Molly's expression changed again after her father's coughing resumes, this time more violently. "Father, are you alright?"

Even Sherlock turned then and stood up, seeming ready to take some sort of action if needed.

"I'm- I'm fine darling." More coughing, then he continued. "I think I'll just step outside for a moment. I'll get the horses ready and I'll just wait for you. Perhaps the air will do me good. Thank you again for the tea, I very much appreciate it."

Sherlock looked at Dr. Hooper and actually made eye contact as he nodded in a wordless answer.

After her father left, Molly smiled shyly at the rest of the party. "Forgive us, I thought he was well enough to come out today."

"There's nothing to forgive, surely!" Mary said kindly. "Is there anything we can do?"

To Molly's surprise, Sherlock spoke up before she could. "Not likely there's anything miraculous you can do, Mary, in the case of cancer that has spread to the lungs."

"Sherlock!" she hissed, turning to look at her cousin. She looked back at Molly. "He's a bit too observant for his own good sometimes.

"It's...alright," Molly answered quietly.

After an awkward moment of silence, Molly stood abruptly. "I should go outside and meet my father. It would probably be best to get him home."

"Of course," Anthea said as handed Molly her shawl which had fallen from her shoulders and stayed behind on the couch. "Please don't let us keep you. You must join us when Lady Holmes throws a party, mustn't she darling?"

Lord Holmes looked up briefly and offered a forced smile. "She must." Then he returned his gaze to his work.

"It's settled then, how lovely! We'll be so glad to have you." Anthea announced happily.

"That's very kind of you," Molly said with a quick smile. "I'll look forward to that very much."

"Though you're rather nervous, aren't you?" Sherlock added, a bit out of the blue again. He took a few steps closer, and there was a strange gleam in his eyes as he looked at her. "But _why,_ I wonder?"

"Honestly, Sherlock-" but Mary didn't get far.

"No, no, no! Give me a moment, I should be able to get this!" and he put his hand up as he closed his eyes in thought. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Molly again. "This should be simple enough. Keeps me in practice."

As he got a bit closer, Molly looked up at him nervously. "Practice, Mr. Holmes?"

"Mm, keeping my mind active...I would deduce that your apprehension at attending a party here is due to your...apparel?"

Molly's large brown eyes became even wider and her mouth fell open a bit.

"The dress you're wearing at the moment...This is your most frequently used garment. It's not in tatters, no. But it's worn enough to suggest frequent use. This would also suggest that you do not own a large number of other dresses. Not uncommon for a woman of your modest situation. In addition to that fact, you allow little time for the care of your personal appearance and dress, since most of your focus lies in your father's work, and especially lately, his health. Clearly those things are your focus, seeing as you are now...twenty two, and yet unmarried. So! Though it's likely that you wouldn't wear this particular dress," he said gesturing to her garment at present, "to an evening affair, I would imagine that you have only...one option in the way of evening wear, and technically it isn't really evening wear at all, is it? It's only perhaps one step above the formality of the dress you're wearing now. You flinched slightly when Anthea invited you, even though you smiled. As you did so, you felt the fabric of the dress you're currently wearing. Clearly your mind went to your clothes, and you became self-conscious after realizing that you had nothing to wear that wasn't only marginally more formal than what you were feeling between your finger at that _very moment._ "

Molly blinked up at him, undecided if her heart was racing out of the painful embarrassment, the shocking accuracy at his words, or simply how close he was standing. She quickly realized it was probably an awful combination of the three.

"I- I- **...** how did you manage to..." she tried to begin.

His eyes brightened slightly. "I was right, wasn't I? I should certainly hope I was. Not exactly a challenge!" He half smiled, and looked pleased with himself.

"I should say not," Lord Holmes added from his desk, not even looking up.

Molly had rarely felt so uncomfortable in a social situation. She was unsure how to react at first.

Mary, naturally, was mortified. Anthea was as well, but Mary had the forthrightness to actually speak up. She stepped forward next to Sherlock.

"You'll have to forgive my cousin. He's a detective, as you may have heard. Though he doesn't exactly know when he's working and when he isn't." She shot Sherlock a sideways disapproving look as she finished speaking.

"My _mind_ is always working," he said with a little huff.

"I had heard, yes," Molly said, in answer to Mary.

"He tends to...read people a bit too freely. I'm sure he didn't mean any offense."

"No, I'm sure not," Molly answered quietly, but she was looking at Sherlock. She was pretty sure that he didn't care one way or the other if he caused offense. What a very strange man indeed. "You enjoy solving mysteries then?"

"I do. It affords a challenge. A means to keep myself from getting bored. I try to take every opportunity to keep my mind active." He looked rather proud of himself.

Molly nodded, and she felt a strange surge of boldness, despite the fact that the flush of embarrassment hadn't completely left her cheeks yet. "And so you turn _people_ into your mysteries to solve?"

Sherlock frowned for a split second and paused. "I'm not sure I'd say exactly that."

"I don't know, I think perhaps that's an interesting concept. All the people around us are the greatest mysteries of all." Molly did her best to hold his eyes tightly with her own. "Though _some_ , I think, are far more mysterious than others. Perhaps more time would be needed to truly solve the mystery of _certain_ ones."

Both Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper didn't even blink for quite a few seconds. Neither of them noticed the way Mary smirked beside them at this interchange.

Sherlock finally drew a slow breath and parted his lips to answer in a quiet low voice. "An accurate deduction, Miss Hooper."

Molly smiled very slightly at him, and then looked back at Mary. "Thank you again for your hospitality, I really must be going. I'll very much look forward to meeting you all again. Good day."

Sherlock bowed his head slightly as the other ladies uttered their goodbyes, and they watched Miss Hooper leave the room.

He stayed still for another minute, a bit dumb founded. Sherlock was used to rendering people speechless by rattling off his always astoundingly accurate deductions, and she had seemed to be at first. He was not used to anyone turning the deducing right back around on him. That was a reaction he'd rarely, if ever, experienced. Especially from a shy and quiet young woman. Interesting...and even a bit invigorating.

"I like her," Mary announced as she took a seat again. "We should ask her for tea more often, don't you agree, Anthea?"

There was a note of teasing in Mary's voice, and Sherlock was well aware that it was directed at him.

* * *

After dinner that evening, the ladies sat around the drawing room quietly. Lady Holmes was rapidly falling asleep in her chair, and Mary and Anthea were trying to read in the low light. They all soon noticed a bustle of increased noise out in the main hall.

They heard Sherlock's muffled happy voice just before the door to the drawing room opened up.

"Hello, ladies!" Sherlock smiled. "Dr. Watson has finally arrived. Watson, you know Anthea and my mother."

"Good evening ladies, it's lovely to see you again," he smiled as he removed his hat and coat. He scanned the room in the dim candlelight.

"Watson, this is my cousin, Mary Morstan. Mary, this is Dr. John Watson."

John walked over closer as Mary also rose from her seat to greet him. She smoothed her lavender gown and they both made small bows of greeting. John stared at her for a second, looked briefly back at Sherlock, then back at Mary again.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Morstan. We will have to blame it on Sherlock that we've not met before this. Have they been hiding you away?" John asked with a small laugh.

Mary smiled at him and her eyes sparkled from the glow of the fire. "Perhaps they have been. But it seems you've found my hiding place, Dr. Watson."

His smile spread slowly as he looked back at her. "It seems I have."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and tilted his head a bit as he watched his friend speak to his cousin.

"I'm sure Watson would like to retire for the night, seeing as he's only just arrived," Sherlock interjected.

Mary and John continued to look at each other even as John agreed with Sherlock and began to move away.

"Goodnight, ladies!" John smiled as he and Sherlock left the drawing room and began heading for the main staircase.

John stopped him at the base of the stairs and lowered his voice. "Holmes, why exactly have I never met Miss Morstan before? You've told me she's been here for months! How is it that you're only just now inviting me to Seaborne?" he demanded.

Sherlock sighed. "You've only been here five minutes, Watson. Do try to relax. And do try not to propose marriage to one or more women before the first day is done. More specifically, my cousin!"

"I'll make no promises!" John chuckled as he started up the steps. "Goodnight, Holmes."

"Goodnight, Watson."

Sherlock turned after a while and retreated back to the library. For his part, he was far from sleep. The silence around here was killing him. The country was far too quiet, which made it difficult to drown out the noises in his head.

And tonight, there were a lot of noises in his head.

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	3. Chapter 3

"This town leaves much to be desired," Sherlock mumbled as he and John walked the road that was lined with small shops and carts.

"Why? Because there's a lack of criminals running the place? Look on the bright side, you can focus on your beekeeping," John teased.

"You'll not be laughing at the end of the summer when I've got a bountiful harvest of honey! Besides, they keep me company. I...talk to them."

"Holmes, you of all people should know that's a load of rubbish! You do not need to talk to the bees!" John laughed.

"Yes, Watson, I do need to! Mrs. Hudson wouldn't allow me to pack my skull from Baker Street," he sulked. "And if things continue as they have for the past week, I'll not be able to count on you either. May I remind you that I did not invite you so that you could spend the summer with my cousin!"

John actually blushed a little as he walked along. "You shouldn't have invited me then. She's a lovely woman. I can't imagine why she's been away from London so long. Seems she should have been there, attending parties and meeting people."

John was still looking straight ahead of him, trying to calm his smile again, so he didn't notice Sherlock's hesitance in responding.

"For some, the country offers a necessary...sanctuary," Sherlock said quietly.

John stopped walking and faced his friend, not bothering to address what Sherlock had actually said.

"Honestly, Holmes, are you opposed to my...interest in Miss Morstan? You're my friend, and I don't want to offend you in any way. I feel I'd better ask now, before I become increasingly attached. Would this bother you in some way?"

Sherlock looked at John, then glanced away at the surrounding scenery. Bother him? No, not particularly. Though the tradition of marriage seemed a bit unnecessary and troublesome to him, he knew John was a man in favor of that sort of lifelong union. And if he looked at the two people in question, he had to admit that they were actually rather well suited for one another. It wasn't really a matter of what bothered him, but more a matter of what may bother John. Things that he was yet unaware of.

"Not particularly, no. You may do as you wish," Sherlock answered, in partial truth. He added a small smile, which made his friend react in kind.

"Thank you. I appreciate that, Holmes, honestly. I'm sure you care about your cousin's happiness, and it's natural you should have a say in whatever match she makes. I hope you know that I'd do my very best to take care of her, and make her happy, if she'd have me."

"Yes, I realize you would." Sherlock didn't enjoy this sort of conversation, and would rather not have to discuss this subject much further. "Just don't jump ahead of yourself, Watson. No need to rush things."

"Of course. We shall see what the summer brings," John smiled.

Just then, a couple women came walking out of a shop and caught sight of the two men. The older of the two women smiled and waved.

"Hello there! Mr. Sherlock Holmes, isn't it?"

Sherlock and John stopped and greeted the two women with a small bow. "Yes, good day to you," Sherlock answered coolly.

"I'm Mrs. Hawkins, and this is my daughter, Miss Janine Hawkins," she said rather proudly as she gestured to the lovely dark hair haloed face beside her.

John smiled warmly and Sherlock gave a small nod to the young woman who beamed back at him.

"We'd heard you were back for the summer. It'll be lovely to get to know you and the rest of your family," Miss Hawkins said sweetly. "The last time you were here, I barely remember. I was just a little girl then!"

"All grown up now, isn't she?" Mrs. Hawkins laughed, smiling quite obviously at Sherlock.

"Quite," Sherlock said flatly. It was all he could manage without becoming rude, and John Watson could clearly see it.

"Well, we don't want to keep you ladies. Enjoy the day, and perhaps we'll see you again before the summer is over," John said kindly.

"I certainly hope so! We shall have to have a party, and all of you will be more than welcome," Mrs. Hawkins said gleefully. "But we must be on our way, you're right. One of our kitchen staff has badly cut his hand and we must check in on him again. I do hope it heals properly. We sent for Dr. Hooper this morning, but word came back from Miss Hooper that they are unable to make the visit today as her father is not well. Imagine that! One has need for a doctor and _they_ are unwell?!" the woman huffed.

"How dare he," Sherlock mumbled to himself, and thankfully nobody took notice.

"Well, perhaps I may be of service. Forgive me, I'm Doctor John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Regiment. If Dr. Hooper is unwell, I'd be happy to take a look at the injury."

Mrs. Hawkins smiled in surprise. "Oh! A doctor! How lovely! You are most welcome if you have the time Dr. Watson, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you ma'am, and you as well," John nodded.

"We are an easy distance from Seaborne, your mother knows where," Mrs. Hawkins said more to Sherlock. "And you are most welcome to come along, Mr. Holmes. We would be happy to have you. Wouldn't we Janine?"

Janine smiled at Sherlock and blushed a little. "Indeed we would, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock said nothing at first till John very obviously cleared his throat. Then Sherlock forced a small smile.

"Thank you for your kind offer."

"Perhaps we shall see you today then. Good day to both of you gentlemen!" Mrs. Hawkins smiled, and then she and her daughter finally turned and began walking off. Though Janine turned briefly and glanced back.

"Well well, that was a lovely encounter," John said slyly.

"Forgetting my cousin so very quickly, Watson?" Sherlock teased as they kept on their way.

"I wasn't thinking of myself actually. Miss Hawkins seemed rather taken with you, I'd say."

"Perhaps she was. An excellent reason for you to call on them on your own today."

"What is the matter with you? Are you so determined to remain a cranky old bachelor for the whole of your life?" John laughed.

"I am not a bachelor, Watson. I'm married to my work. And if I am cranky, it is only because I've been cruelly separated from my spouse for the entirety of the summer! So I do not wish to be tempted into taking a mistress!"

"So you find her tempting?" John teased.

"Incidentally...no, I do not. She is conventionally pretty, but she lacks the intelligence to keep me interested. I do not, however, wish to appear to show interest. Her mother seems the sort to aggressively pursue suitors for her daughter. If I accepted their invitation to accompany you today, I would be showing myself agreeable to the possibility of courting Miss Hawkins. And I do not, in fact, wish to do any such thing."

John sighed. "Fine, do as you like! Though I understood you to be wishing for some sort of diversions this summer. Locking yourself away will do nothing to help boredom!"

Sherlock's eyes suddenly brightened and he stopped in his tracks, grabbing John's arm to stop him as well.

"Oh, I've just had the most marvelous idea! This will provide definite entertainment over the summer! He'll have to agree to accepting your help, but I'm sure that can be accomplished rather easily," and he had begun talking more to himself as he looked off in the distance past John.

"Hang on, Holmes, what are you talking about? Who will have to agree to my help? And wouldn't that require my agreement as well? Perhaps you'd be willing to include me in this scheme of yours!"

Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal. "Oh yes yes, you'll agree of course, probably more easily...I believe that you should offer your services and skill to Dr. Hooper for the summer, thus allowing him more time to rest. You do him the favor of helping him care for his patients, and you'll be able to share with me all sorts of interesting medical findings. You may even have access to wonderful things! Perhaps someone needs to have a wart removed, or looses a digit in an unfortunate farming accident, or perhaps has to have something drained-"

John laughed in disbelief and put his hands up, halting Sherlock's excited rant. "You must be out of your mind! You're asking me to take over a well loved and respected Dr's practice as he lays ill and possible dying, all so you can have access to some interesting things to experiment with? I will have no part in this, Holmes! I'm doing a favor to one person today, that's all I agreed to!"

Sherlock was the very polar opposite of sentimental, but if playing this card would help him procure the cooperation of his friend, so be it.

"Watson, how could you refuse such an opportunity? This man is most likely dying, and the extra work load has now fallen on the shoulders of his unmarried daughter. Surely you would not withhold your medical expertise in a case such as this! Imagine the weight off Dr. and Miss Hooper's minds if you were to help them in this way! My personal entertainment is, naturally, of very secondary importance." Sherlock did his best to maintain an earnest look of sincerity.

"Somehow I don't think you mean that... but, I do suppose you're right. I'm not sure what else Dr. Hooper will do while he's in this state. His daughter can't possible do everything...Alright, I suppose I should offer to help."

Sherlock grinned and clapped his hands together. "Excellent! I shall call on the Hoopers today and make them aware of our offer."

"Shouldn't I be the one to offer my services?!" John questioned as he followed on Sherlock's heels after the man had continued walking again.

"Having known the Hooper family a bit more than you, and as a man of my position, I will be able to vouch for your character. As well as assuring Dr. Hooper that it won't be any trouble to my family, seeing as you are a guest of ours for the summer. I shall assure him that we do not mind sharing you," Sherlock grinned.

"Aren't you the gracious host?" John shook his head and chuckled.

"Always, Watson!"

They arrived back to their carriage with the waiting driver, and requested that they be taken back to Seaborne. Sherlock was thrilled at the plan he'd concocted, and eager to get things started.

* * *

Sherlock knocked firmly at the front door of the Hooper's home. He surveyed the home and grounds and found it to be a modest, but very comfortable building. If he were honest with himself, he preferred something smaller to the grand scale of a home like Seaborne. He didn't need a lot of space for himself. He put up with a small London flat just fine.

A few moments later, a housekeeper opened the door, and Sherlock received a somewhat awed stare from the middle aged woman.

"Good afternoon sir. May I help you?"

"Yes, please. I would very much like to see Dr. Hooper. And if he is too unwell to be seen, I shall settle for speaking with Miss Hooper."

The woman looked a bit surprised at this stranger's familiarity with both Dr. Hooper and his daughter, and also the fact that he knew how unwell the doctor was. The woman stepped aside, making way for him to enter.

"Perhaps you would like to come into the sitting room and I'll just go and fetch Miss Hooper," she offered.

"Thank you, yes." Sherlock stepped inside past her, then followed her down the hall after she'd shut the door.

Sherlock was left alone, waiting in the modest sitting room for a few minutes. Finally, he heard the approaching footsteps, and the door opened. The housekeeper stood aside and Molly walked in the room, looking a bit surprised at Sherlock's presence.

Sherlock rose from his seat and gave a small bow and a quick smile as she came closer. "Good afternoon, Miss Hooper."

Molly took a seat in the couch across from him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I'm sorry, but my-"

"I know, your father is unwell and cannot see me."

Molly frowned for a second at his words. She wondered...

"Mr. Holmes, was there something you needed? Forgive me, but I didn't think we were expecting you today."

Sherlock folded his hands in his lap and smiled again. "No indeed, Miss Hooper, you were not expecting me. I came today to make a sort of...offer to your father."

Something inside Molly jumped, and she suddenly felt like a bit lightheaded. "Make an- an offer?"

"Mm, perhaps you would be willing to give him a message?"

"I, suppose I could, yes."

"Excellent." Sherlock leaned forward a bit. "I would like to offer to your father, the services of one of my house guests."

Molly looked at him in confusion, and he continued.

"Forgive me for noticing, but it seems your father is having a bit of trouble caring for the needs of his patients in light of his own health concerns. My friend, Dr. John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Regiment, has recently returned from the war due to a leg injury. He's been back for some months now, and recovered quite well, though he's certainly not going back into the battle. He is here, at Seaborne for the summer, and he is a skilled physician. He is available and willing to help your father keep up with his patients, and if there is any expense incurred, I would be willing to take care of it."

Molly fidgeted with her hair which was only loosely tied back, not having been properly done today. She knew she must look awfully tired, wearing one of her much less attractive dresses, and having spent most of the day caring for her father and trying to help him to regain his strength. Was her father short handed? Most definitely. But Molly was unsure of two things. Would her father be willing to accept any help? And why in the world was Mr. Holmes even offering such a thing?

"Mr. Holmes, why would you make my father such an offer?" she asked hesitantly.

Sherlock shrugged. "Why should I not? You don't assume that I'm simply doing something charitable?"

Molly was somewhat confident that wasn't the case. "No, I do not," she answered honestly.

Sherlock chuckled. This woman was pleasantly surprising. "As you've already heard me mention, I consider it imperative that I remain activities and exercise my mind. Perhaps I saw an opportunity to do something interesting and out of the ordinary this summer...and I took it."

"But, you are not the doctor. How would this be of interest to you?"

"True. But you could still say I am overseeing a project. Anything I learn can be filed away in my mind, and perhaps used in the future. You never can tell what will be useful when working alongside Scotland Yard. Or should I say, doing the work for them."

"You're not one for modesty, are you?" she asked, with a slight smile.

"Why bother? Everyone else spends plenty of time worrying about that," he said simply, barely blinking at the question.

Molly cleared her throat and got back on topic. "I will, of course, have to see how my father feels about this. And if nothing else, he will certainly want to meet this Dr. Watson himself."

"I'd like to know how you feel about it."

The deep and resonating words rendered Molly dumbfounded for a moment. He had to be the strangest man she'd ever met. What other gentleman would inquire about how an unmarried young woman felt about her father receiving help running his business? Did he really care what she thought?

"You want to know how _I_ feel about it?" she asked slowly.

Sherlock looked around for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at her as he answered. "Yes, as I asked. Nobody knows your father or his medical practice better than you, Miss Hooper. Who better to judge whether this offer of mine would be well received or not? And who better to encourage him to accept if he is hesitant?" He leaned forward and looked at her intensely. "Would you do that?"

Molly felt her cool exterior faltering under his deeper gaze. "I- I...well, perhaps. I do believe he can't keep up with all the work. And there's really only so much I'm able to do. I wouldn't want his patients to suffer. So...I'll do my best to speak to him about it. Perhaps you could call again tomorrow, and he could speak to you himself. I'm sure he'll be stronger tomorrow. Some days are better than others."

"I will return tomorrow then, Miss Hooper, and I will bring Dr. Watson." Sherlock stood from his seat immediately and started toward the door.

"Can't I offer you some tea?" she asked as she also stood quickly, realizing she'd been a terrible hostess.

Sherlock turned back again to face her. "Thank you, but I believe I shall accept that offer tomorrow when I call again."

"Of course...Mr. Holmes!" She halted him from leaving again, and he turned. "Thank you," she added softly.

Sherlock didn't say anything, but gave her a small nod and a half smile. He opened the sitting room door and left.

Molly walked out a moment later and she heard the front door shut. She came and stood next to their housekeeper, who was still peering out the window.

"Who was that, Miss Hooper?" she inquired, looking a little starry eyed.

Molly looked passed her, out the window, as she answered. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she said quietly.

"Ah yes, I've heard he was back. My, what a gentleman! Do you think we will be seeing more of him, Miss?"

Molly couldn't help the smile that contorted her lips just a bit as she saw his carriage pull away and disappear. "I hope so, Mrs. Hart. I hope so."

* * *

John appeared nervous as the carriage neared the Hooper's residence.

"Watson, do relax," Sherlock said in exasperation. "You're offering to do him a _favor_!"

"The relationship between a doctor and his patients is a very important one, Holmes! It would be difficult for a man to step back and hand over the care of those people to someone he barely knows. And I do wish you would have waited till you could speak to him directly, and not put this on his daughter! You may well have offended him by speaking to Miss Hooper of such a thing first!"

"Believe me, that man views his daughter differently than most would. She works with him day in and day out, you can tell. A man who doesn't value his daughter's opinion would never allow such a thing. She's intelligent, he knows it, and he values it."

John Watson stopped his train of thought for a moment and stared at his friend. "You like her."

Sherlock frowned. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Watson."

"Perhaps you _value her intelligence_ as well," he smirked.

Sherlock avoided his friend's eyes. "Thankfully, this conversation is over, as we have arrived."

John smiled to himself, and was suddenly a touch more interested to meet Miss Molly Hooper, as well as Dr. Hooper.

They were received into the home and ushered into the sitting room, but this time Dr. Hooper and Miss Hooper were there awaiting their arrival. Dr. Hooper looked at both men, but especially Sherlock, with an inquisitive eye as they were introduced in the room.

"Mr. Holmes, a pleasure to see you again," Dr. Hooper said as he stood. "Dr. Watson, a pleasure to meet you."

The four of them were soon seated as tea was being brought in. At one point Dr. Hooper looked over at his daughter, and saw her eyes planted firmly in Sherlock Holmes' direction. He looked away quickly, but the little he saw was enough to leave an impression.

"I must confess," Dr. Hooper began, "that I was a bit taken aback when my daughter told me of your visit yesterday, and the subsequent idea that you presented."

Sherlock sipped his tea calmly and caught Molly's eye for a moment as he listened to her father speak.

"I do pride myself in seeing the best in people, so I'm inclined to think that you're the very best sort of men to offer such a service to me during this difficult time. Though I'm also not a fool, so I must have my reservations as well. Do you truly want nothing from me in return? I have nothing to offer you if you do me this favor, Dr. Watson."

"I understand, and don't mind at all. I enjoy practicing medicine, and I know you're having a difficult time at present. I'd be perfectly happy to do what I can while I'm here. Mr. Holmes is more than willing to take care of my expenses, though they will surely be few."

Dr. Hooper then turned to Sherlock. "Why would you care to do such a thing, Mr. Holmes? Naturally, you're a man who can do exactly as he pleases, but why do this?"

"It's simple, really. Medicine and science fascinate me, and they always have. You may consider this a happy distraction from an otherwise tedious summer."

A smile spread slowly on Dr. Hooper's face. "Answered quite honestly, Mr. Holmes. So my medical practice is an interesting diversion for you? Isn't it fortunate for you that I'm so ill?" The words could have been spoken in bitterness, but there was clearly amusement written on the man's face.

"I always answer honestly, Dr. Hooper, for better or worse. I believe you will learn that about me rather quickly," he answered with only a ghost of a smile.

Dr. Hooper smiled again, but had to quickly set his tea down and take out his handkerchief as he began coughing.

"Father, are you alright?" Molly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he wheezed and slowly was able to remove the cloth from his mouth, which afforded the two men across from him a very brief glimpse of the bright red that stained it. "I would like to continue this conversation in private with Dr. Watson. Perhaps, you would join me in my office?"

"Yes, of course." John stood immediately, and watched as Dr. Hooper followed with some difficulty.

"Molly, darling, perhaps you can keep Mr. Holmes company while Dr. Watson and I talk?" Dr. Hooper said, smiling at his daughter.

Molly smiled and nodded, then her father and Dr. Watson disappeared behind the door and were heard walking away down the hall.

Molly slowly moved her line of vision back over to where Sherlock sat across from her. "So, Mr. Holmes, you're a detective? How wonderful," she said brightly.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly as he considered this, then his lip curled in a slow smile...

* * *

After Dr. Hooper closed the door, John began talking immediately. "Is there anything else you'd like to know about me? I can certainly tell you a bit about my experience if you'd like-"

"What I would like, is to be the patient for a moment," Dr. Hooper said seriously as he turned to face John.

"Oh," John answered in some surprise. "Well, of course, if you'd like...Would you perhaps get on the table please?"

John Watson immediately stepped into the role of the doctor that he so naturally was. He examined Dr. Hooper and asked him a number of questions. He felt his torso, and took note of the places where he could actually feel tumors from beneath the skin, and he listened to the man's breathing carefully.

"And, the coughing is rather frequent now, is it?"

"Very," he answered hoarsely. "Becoming bloody as well."

"How often does that happen?

"Almost every time now...So, Dr. Watson, what do you think?" Dr. Hooper asked as he sat up on his own medical table and began buttoning his waistcoat again.

John stepped back and smiled kindly at the man. "I think you need to take it easy. You need to get as much rest as you can, perhaps a touch of laudanum if necessary for the cough. Don't exert yourself, and try to relax."

Dr. Hooper nodded slowly. "There. I'm done playing patient now. I'd like for you to now speak to me as a doctor. And I beg you, do speak freely," he asked with a somber expression.

John recognized what the man was asking for, and it pained him to comply. He took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "Dr. Hooper, this is in no way my area of expertise. Please understand, I know relatively little on the subject of cancer."

"Dr. Watson, please," he said simply.

John stared at the man for a moment, then opened his mouth, speaking softly. "One to two months. That's my- my guess. From what I've read, from what I've seen, it can't possibly be longer than that, with your symptoms being what they are...I'm sorry."

Dr. Hooper pursed his lips and gave his head a small shake. "I'm not surprised, of course. That's approximately what I've been guessing of late. But I wanted to hear it from another professional. And don't be sorry. Never be sorry for doing your job. Sometimes the work isn't easy, and it isn't pretty, but there's also almost nothing greater in the world. How I have loved my work."

John smiled. "I've heard that said before, a time or two."

Dr. Hooper inhaled and exhaled with some difficulty, then stood again. "I would be honored if you would assist me in caring for my patients, while you're here. And perhaps, by the end, I'd very much like to think you'll find a suitable permanent replacement. That is something I would be especially grateful for, if you would be willing to oversee it."

John nodded. "I would, of course. And I appreciate your faith in me. I'm glad to be able to help."

"I am grateful you volunteered, Dr. Watson. You're a good man."

"Well, to be honest, it was Mr. Holmes' idea in the first place. And you'll find that when he has an idea, he can be awfully stubborn," John laughed.

"Mm, yes he is a pleasantly unusual gentleman. I had only known him as a child up till now. He was unique, even then. I look forward to knowing him better, now that he is a grown man. I suppose we should get back to them now, shouldn't we? Hopefully they've found something to pass the time discussing!" Dr. Hooper smiled.

* * *

"And what had you found?" Molly asked, eyes widened.

"There were sizable pieces of glass embedded in the man's skull which did not match the glass of the broken window he was found laying in. Therefore-"

"He must have died elsewhere, and been moved!"

"Precisely." Sherlock nodded. "This, of course, led me to believe that the man who said he'd witnessed the death was lying. This turned out to be correct, and we quickly had our killer."

"How exciting, and how rewarding as well. How were you ever offered such a job by Scotland Yard?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It wasn't exactly an offer. I simply began telling them things, things they were not able to discern for themselves. And soon enough, they couldn't do without me."

"You are very fortunate. You are able to do what you love, and that means so much. I know how much it pains my father to be forced to step back from his work."

"But you convinced him it would be wise, didn't you?" Sherlock guessed.

Molly looked sad, but nodded. "It was the right thing to do."

"His patients are in genuinely good hands. He should be able to rest easy, knowing that," he said confidently.

Molly's expression was still a bit dreary. "Would you be able to rest easy, Mr. Holmes, if you had to let somebody else take over your work with Scotland Yard?"

This hit him, probably harder than if it had been said differently. It forced him to put himself in another man's place, and that was an unusual occurrence. Sherlock looked down for a moment, and when he raised his eye back to Molly's, his expression answered the question. It would kill him to do such a thing, and he would probably rather be dead than give up his detective work forever. And in that moment, he wasn't thinking about how much more interesting this summer would be now that John was acting as the town's doctor. He was genuinely feeling for Dr. Hooper.

Sherlock wasn't one for words of sentiment. He rarely ever felt much anyway, so was especially unskilled when it came to expressing anything he did feel. He had opened his mouth and was trying to formulate the words to say _something_ , when Dr. Hooper and Dr. Watson reentered the room.

Dr. Hooper smiled at Sherlock as he stood. "You're a good man, Mr. Holmes. And so is your friend...I would be most pleased to accept your generous offer." He extended his hand to Sherlock.

The two men shook hands firmly and Sherlock smiled genuinely back at Dr. Hooper. "I am glad. You are both most welcome at Seaborne, at any time. And I believe my mother is currently busy planning a party, which you will both be invited to."

"I do hope I am well enough to attend. If not, I shall have to send my Molly alone. No doubt she will be much lovelier company than an old man like me anyway." He smiled at his daughter warmly.

A few minutes later, Sherlock and John were back in the carriage and on their way to Seaborne.

John sighed heavily as he said, "I am glad we're helping him, Holmes. That man doesn't have long. He's dying, and he'll likely be gone before Autumn. He asked me to help him find a permanent replacement as well. He's got to get his affairs in order, that's for certain...I do hope he's made arrangements for his daughter. God knows who'll look after her."

Sherlock didn't answer. He stared out the window watching the countryside fly past him as they moved. But for some reason, he was also concerned for the well-being of Miss Molly Hooper. He wasn't sure why he should care at all about this man and his daughter, but mysteriously, he did.

And it so happened that it was not the worst feeling in the world.

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock trudged down the marble steps while yawning loudly. He heard voices downstairs in the morning room. A maid walked past the staircase and gave a little involuntary gasp before turning a bright shade of pink and scurrying away. Sherlock continued his descent, unfazed.

He walked down the main hall and entered the room where he saw his mother, cousin, and sister in law playing card with John. Poor Anthea looked up first and dropped her cards. Mary looked over next and had to cover her mouth to stop the laughter.

"Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock! You have a half dozen silk dressing gowns you could be wearing if you can't be bothered to come downstairs fully dressed! Your bed sheet belongs on your _bed!_ " his mother bellowed.

"I would prefer to keep it on my body for now, thank you. And I should think the rest of you would prefer that as well," he answered calmly as he poured himself a cup of tea with one hand while keeping the sheet wrapped and gathered with his other hand. He threw a brief smile over to the small table. "A pleasant morning, don't you think?"

"Not quite so much anymore," John said shaking his head.

Just then, a butler appeared at the door. "Dr. Watson, there's a messenger for you at the door."

John got up immediately, excusing himself, and exiting the room quickly.

The word had been spread quickly over the past week that Dr. Watson was to be contacted in Dr. Hooper's stead. Dr. Hooper made it very clear to his patients that he trusted Dr. Watson implicitly, and that they should do the same. They took him seriously, and John had already been called upon a few times.

Sherlock hadn't been much entertained yet though. There had been a fever, chronic headaches, and one sprained ankle, nothing of any interest. But that was about to change.

John came back in the room. "Well, a servant has had a bit of an accident involving the wheel of a carriage. His foot is crushed rather badly. I'll need to go and see what I can do."

"Perhaps an amputation will be an order," Sherlock offered with a gleam in his eye.

"Oh my," Lady Holmes exclaimed, looking a little disturbed.

"Don't excite yourself yet, Holmes. It may well not be as bad as is reported. These things tend to get exaggerated by messenger. But I will go now, by carriage, and I'll return as soon as I can," he spoke the last words mostly to Miss Morstan who smiled warmly in return.

John lingered for a second, enjoying her gaze, then turn and went his way.

Mary looked down at her cards, smiling to herself and wondering if she should dare let herself be happy at this man's attention. He was such a good man, and how little she felt that she deserved him...

Just then, Mycroft entered the room. His eyes fell on his brother right away, who sat wrapped in a sheet and happily sipping his tea.

"Ah, good morning, brother," Sherlock threw him a grim.

"Is it?" Mycroft asked with disdain, and walked over to the tea cart to pour himself a cup.

"Darling, we've just lost Dr. Watson in our game of cards. Perhaps you'd like to join us?" Anthea asked her husband, giving him a sweet smile.

"I think you'll find I am much better at government than a game of cards, my dear," he said simply as he stood looking out the window with his tea in hand.

Anthea let out a small sigh. "Perhaps it isn't your skill at cards I am requesting, but simply the pleasure of your company!" she said, in an unusually forceful and frustrated voice.

Mycroft turned and looked at her as the room fell silent and everyone's eyes fell on them. After a moment, he cleared his throat and said, while actually looking almost sad, "I think, you will also find that I have even fewer talents at being pleasant company."

Anthea stared back at him, and a second later she stood from the card table. "Excuse me, please," she whispered, and hurried from the room.

Sherlock opened his mouth first, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I believe you've just proven your own point, brother... unpleasant company indeed!" he smirked.

"This is not a joke," Mary said, putting her cards aside, the game having been ruined by now anyway. "Do you care nothing for the woman who you call 'wife,' Mycroft?"

"Mary!" Lady Holmes hissed, feeling it improper for her niece to reprimand her eldest son.

"I cannot stay silent!" Mary continued. "The party has been here under a month and I cannot bear to watch this horror any longer. If you did not truly care for that lovely woman, Mycroft, you would have done well not to marry her at all," she said to the man who stood stoic and silent.

"She made a good match, Mary. Do not forget that," Lady Holmes interjected, trying to pacify her, but not succeeding.

Mary turned to her aunt. "Do you really think that is all that matters? You know nothing of the pain a woman experiences when she's made to feel unloved!"

Sherlock expression fell a bit, and he didn't feel like teasing anymore. His cousin was one of the few people that could successfully tug at his emotions, and he didn't like to see her upset.

Mary pressed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. "Forgive me," she said softly as she opened her eyes and straightened in her chair again.

It was Sherlock who immediately said, "There is nothing to forgive," with a pointed glance at his mother and brother.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Mycroft set down his only partially drunk tea and announced, "I believe I shall go for a ride this morning. Excuse me." He wasted no time in exiting the room.

Lady Holmes sighed loudly and set down the cards that she was still holding onto for some reason. "If anyone needs me, I suppose I shall be in my correspondence room. I do have some letters to catch up on, and more to plan for the party next week." She stood and exited the room with the use of her cane.

Eventually, Mary looked over at Sherlock and shook her head while laughing lightly. "What a bunch of fools we are. Do things usually fall apart like this when Dr. Watson is missing?"

"Usually, yes," he said with a small smile. "Why do you think I invited him this summer?"

"Well, I should probably go and check on Anthea. I think it's safe to say her husband isn't taking the initiative in that regard." She rose from the table and smiled at Sherlock as she exited the room, leaving Sherlock alone.

He sat drinking his tea and wiggling his bare toes on the carpet beneath his feet. It was true, his family and himself were a bunch of fools. But he couldn't be bothered to worry about that at the moment.

He was too busy hoping that something interesting would come from Dr. Watson's case of the crushed foot...

* * *

John walked into the fresh air and followed Molly to the water pump which wasn't far from the small house. She was bent over rinsing her hands carefully in the cool water. She stood and made room for John as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"I appreciate your being willing to come along and assist me, Miss Hooper. It makes all the difference in the world to have a competent second set of hands. I can tell you've worked with your father for a very long time. You certainly don't seem bothered by any of this," he commented as he began rinsing the blood off his own hands.

"Not at all," she said brightly. "It's almost...natural to me. It fascinates me actually."

"Well, you're a natural," John smiled. "Your father must be very proud."

"I'm glad to have the kind of father who is proud of such a thing."

John nodded. It was true, he knew. Such a man was not commonplace. And he believed she would be hard pressed to find a husband of similar understanding and acceptance. Except of course...

"I have a bit of a favor to ask you, Miss Hooper. Forgive me, I know you've already been such a help today." John began wiping his own now cleaned hands.

"It's no trouble, Dr. Watson. What is it you need help with?"

"Well, it's the small matter of the two toes that had to be removed," he began hesitantly.

"Oh, yes. Would you like me to dispose of them? I've done it before, it's no trouble."

"Not exactly...Actually, I'd like you to take them to someone for me. I should stay here for a bit, and just make sure that the boy is still relatively comfortable. You can take the carriage. It's not a far walk for me, and I'd enjoy the exercise."

Molly looked at him quizzically. "Did you say take them _to someone?_ "

John looked a little uncomfortable. _How do I explain this?_ He thought. Then he smirked inwardly as he decided that the best plan of action was to make Sherlock to the explaining...

"Yes, that's right. I'd like for you to take them to Mr. Holmes at Seaborne. He will explain the situation in full."

Molly stared back at him for a moment. She was obviously trying not to appear completely shocked by this request. She started to open her mouth again but John spoke first.

"If this makes you somehow uncomfortable, I'm sure I can take care of it when I return to Seaborne later in the day. I just thought that perhaps-"

"No, I'll do it, Dr. Watson," she said with a determined nod and then a smile. "It's perfectly fine. I'm not uncomfortable at all."

John smiled back at her. "Oh, good. Well, I'll just wrap up those toes then, shall I?"

* * *

The carriage came to a stop in front of Seaborne, and Molly took up the basket with the small wrapped parcel inside it. She still wondered what exactly she was doing here, but at this point there wasn't much that would have discouraged her from making a delivery to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. If Dr. Watson had said it would be explained, she felt sure there was nothing to be concerned about.

She knocked on the door, and soon the butler had opened up and smiled. "May I help you? Miss Hooper, isn't it?"

"Yes, I'm Miss Hooper. I have a, um...delivery for Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Is he at home?"

"Yes he is, Miss. Perhaps you would just come wait inside, and I'll fetch him."

Molly followed the butler into the sitting room and settled herself on one of the chairs. She waited at least ten minutes, beginning to wonder if anyone was ever coming back for her. Finally she heard some approaching footsteps.

Sherlock came through the doorway looking a bit like he'd been in the middle of something. He was also missing his jacket. He was in just his shirt and waistcoat and an untied cravat. Molly blinked a couple times, looked away, cleared her throat, and then looked back up at him.

"Miss Hooper...I was told that Watson sent you," he said, with a touch of question in his voice.

"Oh, Yes!" she answered quickly, relieved that he'd reminded her of the reason she was actually there. He brain had apparently stopped working for a brief moment, and she had started wondering what in the world she should say next. "He um, told me to bring you something." She stood and picked up the basket.

This prompted Sherlock to move in closer and he began to eye the parcel inside the basket intently. "Did he? And what exactly did he have you bring?"

Molly giggled a little nervously. "Well, I think this may sound a bit strange, but...a couple of toes."

She watched as a slow smile spread across Sherlock's features. Then he chuckled happily and clapped his hands together, rubbing them in glee. "That's not strange at all! That's _excellent_ news, and exactly what I was hoping to hear!"

"Is it?" she smiled, eyeing him cautiously.

"Absolutely! Now, I'll just take that, and I won't delay you any longer. Though I can have tea brought in if you'd like some before you leave." He may have been offering tea, but he looked in a rush. If she was reading him correctly, including the way he kept eyeing the basket she held, he was very much interested in getting on with...whatever this was.

"No thank you, for the tea, I mean. But um, I was wondering, why exactly would Dr. Watson be delivering toes to you? He did say you would explain."

"He did?" Sherlock frowned... _Why would Watson promise her that I'd make a full explanation? Well, no matter..._

Sherlock cleared his throat. "They are for my experiments."

Molly frowned a little. "Experiments? You experiment on...human body parts?"

"Well, I'm not always so fortunate as to have human ones. Sometimes I use animal parts, sometimes other natural items...whatever I can manage."

"And exactly what do you do to these things?"

"Oh, could be a number of things really. I have a whole room downstairs, used as my lab. That's where I was when you arrived. I keep certain chemicals, microscopes-"

"You have microscopes?" she asked stepping forward and looking excited.

He quirked an eyebrow at her as she began to look embarrassed at her sudden outburst. "Yes, I do. As a matter of fact, I have a bit of a collection downstairs. Another one of my small hobbies. That's one thing, I suppose, that I enjoy about being back here. It is a vast improvement to working on the table of my London flat!"

She smiled and it made her eyes gleam a little. "I'm sure."

There was a pause, perhaps a mental crossroads. Sherlock knew, as he looked down at her cheery face, that he had two options. He had just done as she'd asked, and explained himself. So he could take the parcel from her and send her on her way, thanking her for the trouble of her trip and wishing her a pleasant day. Or...

"Miss Hooper?"

"Yes?"

"Would you...like to see?"

Her smile brightened up and answered before her words could, but she quickly said, "I would very much like to see, yes."

Sherlock smiled back in return. "Well then...follow me, Miss Hooper."

* * *

"I cleared one of the rooms in the basement years ago. Nobody else in the family really uses the rooms down here. The only way to get there is down the servant's staircase," he explained as they descended the wooden steps, which were a far cry from the shiny marble ones upstairs.

"It's no problem, I don't mind."

Molly followed him down a hallway, moving steadily away from the sounds of the kitchen which was in the other direction. Sherlock took out keys that he had in his pocket and unlocked the door, then pushing it opened.

There was some light in the room from the windows that were at ground level, and Molly looked around the spacious room that held a couple tables, some shelves on the walls, lots of boxes, bottles of unnamed liquids, and books strewn about. The room would naturally be thought of as cold and unwelcoming to most, but to Molly it felt just perfect.

She walked over to the wall that held shelves of about a dozen microscopes. They were all slightly different. She could only dream of owning one, let alone many.

Sherlock had picked up the basket that she'd set on the floor and put it on the table, beginning to unwrap the contents. He watched her as she walked around the room and silently took it all in. After a few moments, she came over to the table where he was removing the brown paper carefully.

He glanced at her in question as she watched what he did.

Molly smiled. "Don't forget, Mr. Holmes, I am the one who helped Dr. Watson remove them from the poor man's foot. I'll not be bothered by it, if that's what you're wondering."

Sherlock smoothed out the paper and took a look at what was held inside. "And I believe I can see why they had to go." He grimaced a bit at the small toes that were clearly not going to be any use to a foot anymore.

"It was a bad accident," Molly said, looking sympathetically at the table, then back up at Sherlock. "So, what do you plan to do with them?"

Sherlock almost started grinning at the fact that this small woman had so quickly jumped into asking what they'd be doing with these toes. But he cleared his throat instead and said, "I'd actually like to examine the nail."

"Oh, fascinating! How can I help?" she asked, and stepped around to the other side of the table.

He was still so surprised at her interest and comfort with all of this, that he was a bit thrown. He felt inexplicably flustered. "Um, we would uh...remove the nail."

"Alright," she smiled up at him. "Is this the microscope you usually use?" she looked at the contraption sitting atop the table nearby.

"That is my favorite, yes. But you're welcome to try another if you'd like."

"I don't have much experience with them actually. If you like this one best, I'll be happy to use it."

Sherlock retrieved some tools intended for smaller jobs and they set to work.

He found that although Molly didn't know exactly what to do on her own, she was a more than willing participant, and she was also an extremely fast learner. She picked up the tools and used them as if she'd been dissecting small body parts all her life. It was all rather impressive, and he found himself observing her as much as he was focusing on the actual work.

"Would you like to have a look?" he asked a few minutes later, as he raised his head from the microscope.

Molly smiled and moved in front of the contraption as Sherlock took a step back to make room. She paused for a moment, and Sherlock reached his hand around from behind her.

"You can use this part to adjust, if needed," he said softly.

Molly had been enjoying the carefree entertainment all this time, but now, she suddenly felt overwhelmed. There he stood right behind her, and she could actually feel the warmth from his breath on the back of her neck as he had leaned over and spoken.

She began to worry about whether she was being incredibly foolish. She'd been alone with this man more than once now. She'd touched him more times than she'd touched any other man to whom she wasn't related. And when she heard his voice merely inches away from her ear...suddenly all the rules of propriety made sense. No wonder she wasn't supposed to be alone with a man like this. If this is what it felt like, being so close to him, she would be likely to forget herself far more quickly than she ever imagined she would.

Molly began to silently tell herself to focus on the microscope. _Do not turn around, Molly. Do not turn around..._

She leaned forward and pressed her eye to the lens. This thankfully gave her some much needed distraction.

"Oh, my goodness! That's incredible!" she laughed as she examined the thin piece of toe nail in a way that she'd never imagined was possible. "You'll have to sketch this."

"Ah, yes. Well, that's not really my area. Never had much of a hand at drawing," he answered, still standing behind her. "Sometimes I just make some simple notes."

"Really? That's such a shame, with all the lovely things you're able to see through here." Molly straightened up and, against her better judgment, turned away from the microscope to face him. "I can draw."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he listened in interest. "Can you? Well that is fortunate isn't it? I'd be rather interested to see that." He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled down at her.

She returned the smile, thinking again how amazingly difficult it was to think straight with him standing so very close to her. She was about to announce that she'd sketch this magnified nail sample right this very instant...but she happen to catch sight of one of the windows across the room and was reminded of the time.

Molly cleared her throat and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Mr. Holmes, you've been awfully kind to allow me to see all this... but I've realized that I should be getting back home to my father. He may begin to wonder where I am. I'm sure he expected me to return soon after helping Dr. Watson."

Sherlock pressed his lips together and locked his hands behind his back. "Ah, yes of course. Forgive me, I didn't mean to keep you."

"No, no! Of course not! You didn't! I mean, well, I wanted you to. No, forgive me, I meant, I just meant..." She bit her lip for a second, trying to stop fumbling over her words. "Thank you. I just meant, thank you. This was lovely, and I do wish I could stay longer. If I had a room like this I think I'd never leave!"

Again, Sherlock fought the urge to smile especially broadly at her expressions. "My thoughts exactly, Miss Hooper. Unfortunately, I am no longer twelve, and cannot get away with such a thing as easily. But perhaps if I am mysteriously missing at my mother's party next week, you will know my hiding place."

Molly swallowed hard, and pushed down some shyness. "I should hope though, that you won't be hiding away for the entire party," she said softly.

"No, Miss Hooper, I will be sure not to," he answered, lowering his voice a bit.

She could swear, if she let her heart run absolutely wild with unreasonable hope, that there was the hint of a promise in his tone. She felt her face turn pink, for the hundredth time, under his gaze, and decided it was time to force herself to take her leave.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes."

"Good evening, Miss Hooper." He gave her a small bow and a very slight smile.

* * *

John Watson arrived back at Seaborne not much after that. He found Sherlock down in his lab, as he thought he would.

"Ah, I see you've received my delivery. And was it to your liking?" John asked, as he came closer to where his friend was bent over the microscope.

"Very much so, yes. Thank you," he answered, without looking up.

"You're welcome," John stayed where he was, thinking that he'd not really heard the whole story yet. "And, Miss Hooper? I hope you thanked her for her trouble as well."

Sherlock straightened up and eyed his friend suspiciously for a moment. John was smirking back at him slightly as he leaned against the table. He then leaned back down to look into his microscope as he answered his friend.

"Naturally, Watson, yes, I thanked her...most sincerely."

John smiled to himself as he could swear he saw Sherlock appear a little bit nervous. "Good. That's good...Right, well, I'll just leave you to it. See you at dinner, Holmes."

"Mm, yes," Sherlock mumbled as John left the room.

John closed the door to Sherlock's lab behind him as he left. As he walked down the hall, he chuckled lightly and repeated to himself, "You're welcome."

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	5. Chapter 5

John crossed the sea of grass, and as he rounded a bunch of shrubbery he could hear Sherlock talking in a low soft voice. He stood there next to the bee skep, inspecting things and talking rather non-stop about who knows what.

"Sherlock?" John called out from some distance.

"Ah, hello, Watson!" he waved. "Best to stay over there as I have no extra protective gear for you at present."

"Yes, I was certainly planning on it. Will you be long?"

"No, I was just finishing up actually. Things are coming along nicely, and it seems that these bees are well settled in."

"Your mother sent me to look for you. I think she just wanted to make sure you hadn't made an escape for London when nobody was looking! If I'm not mistaken, she has high hopes for this party tonight, but it would rather defeat her purposes if you were absent."

Sherlock set the hackle back over the skep and began making his way toward where John stood. He removed the hat and veil, then the gloves as he spoke. "Thank you for the warning. Now I am considering running off to London!"

"Oh, don't be silly, I'm sure you'll enjoy it!"

"I can't easily enjoy myself if I know what the underlying expectations are. You've proven to be no help at all! I ask you here, hoping that I could deflect any matchmaking to you, and you promptly fall for my cousin less than sixty seconds after your arrival!" Sherlock huffed.

"I'm not sure I would have been able to make your mother forget that you're unmarried one way or the other, Holmes," John laughed. "I'm not that good at distraction! Besides, would it really be so horrible? A wife, I mean."

"It's...not for me."

"But why? Don't you think you may feel that way simply because you've never met a woman who's company you truly enjoy?"

Sherlock stopped walking and faced his friend. "It is an unnecessary distraction, Watson! I cannot focus on both a wife, and my work. It would not be a happy union." He turned again and kept walking forward.

John watched him for a moment as they walked. "And do you believe that because of your brother's marriage?" he asked tentatively.

Sherlock was silent at first, and he seemed hesitant when he spoke. "My brother was foolish enough to ask, and she was foolish enough to say yes. But they are not the first, and will certainly not be the last to enter into a lifetime of connection to another person with whom they share little or no sentiment. They are simply one of many...but yes, they do prove a point rather clearly. I honestly do not see the point. I neither pine for companionship or children, so why bother with all of it?"

"Well then, I'll repeat what I said. Perhaps you just haven't met a woman who you really enjoy being with."

"I cannot see that altering my feelings on the matter so quickly. I've enjoyed the company of women before!" he said haughtily.

John smiled and nodded. "Ah yes, I suppose you have. Miss Hooper for example?"

Sherlock looked suddenly defensive. "Miss Hooper simply happens to have interests that are similar to my own. She doesn't constantly occupy herself with stitching, or any other mundane pointless task such as that. In comparison with other women, her company is certainly...tolerable."

"Just _tolerable?_ " John pressed, beginning to show his amusement.

Sherlock exhaled loudly in irritation. "There will be no convincing argument made to you. You cannot see past your own ridiculous sentiment at the moment!"

John laughed. "I must confess that I'd like to see you as happy as I feel. There's no crime in that."

"Mmm...crime," Sherlock murmured longingly.

John laughed even harder. "But obviously you've got a long way to go! Just try to enjoy yourself tonight, alright? For everyone else sake, if nothing else. Nobody wants to watch you sulking all night. Just dance, and pay no mind to anybody's expectations or hopes!"

"Fine," he answered quietly as they neared the house. "I'll do my best."

"I've got to go see a patient before the party tonight, but I'll be back well in time. Try not to upset anyone before I get back."

"Wouldn't want you to miss it," Sherlock smirked.

John walked off and left Sherlock on his own. He sat on the stone steps in front of his home and looked out into the quiet and empty expanse, knowing that in a matter of hours, it would be far from empty, and even further from quiet.

* * *

"What do you think, Miss?"

Molly turned around and looked into the mirror, examining her hair. "Oh, it's lovely, Mrs. Hart! You've done a beautiful job, and I'm very grateful. I'd never manage something like this if I had attempted it myself."

Her hair was curled in soft waves and pinned perfectly to the back of her head. A few small tendrils were set free around her face, and she loved the way it softened her features, which she didn't believe held much appeal on their own.

Mrs. Hart added a few small white flowers to the back, nestling them in among the curls. "Does it feel secure enough?"

Molly moved her head about and felt with her hands. "I think so, yes. I shouldn't be in danger of losing any pins. I'm not sure I'll need to worry about my hair falling out anyway. I can't imagine I'll be dancing all that much. I've barely ever attended a party such as this."

"Don't talk like that!" the housekeeper chided. "You look just as lovely as any other woman who could be there tonight! The Holmes cared to invite you, and that means you're just as worthy as anybody else. I am sure you'll be introduced to many new people tonight."

"You're very sweet. But I can't help feeling a bit nervous. I'm...I'm not a very good dancer." Molly stood from the chair as Mrs. Hart had gotten her gown ready to put on.

"You'll do just fine. It's just your nerves that get the better of you! As long as you relax, you'll have no trouble at all."

_Easier said than done,_ Molly thought as she stepped into the buttery yellow cotton dress. She couldn't help but smile though, as Mrs. Hart did up the dress and she saw herself in the glass. It wasn't made of fine fabric, and it hadn't been sewn in an expensive shop. The tiny embroidered white flowers that gradually grew in number as the eye traveled down to the hem, had been painstakingly done by her, and not by a professional. And the same could be said of the bit of lace that accentuated the edge of the capped sleeves. But it suited her, and even she could see that. Despite the fact that most women attending the party would surely be more finely dressed than this, she couldn't quite see herself in anything much different. For better or worse, she looked like herself.

"There you are, Miss. All done, and you look pretty as a picture!" the woman sighed as she stepped back.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hart. I suppose I am ready. Best be going as soon as we can. Who knows how long father will be able to stay. I should consider it a luxury if I'm able to enjoy more than one dance!" she smiled.

"Yes, go! It'll be wonderful. I'm sure you'll both able to relax and enjoy yourselves!"

Molly smiled at the housekeeper and took her gloves from off the bed as she walked out of the room. She was more than a little jittery, and she hoped that the night would prove to be as lovely as Mrs. Hart was making it out to be.

* * *

"Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson poked her head into the door of Sherlock's lab in the basement.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson?" he looked up from the microscope.

"Your mother sent me to find you. There's a number of guests here already, and you can no longer be spared."

Sherlock sighed as he straightened up and strode over to the door. "I suppose it's time to come out of hiding," he said with a smile at his housekeeper.

"And don't you look handsome?" she smiled back and gave his cheek a little pat. "It would be a shame to keep the best dance partner hidden away down in the basement wouldn't it?"

"If only I could dance every set with you, Mrs. Hudson," he smirked playfully. "What a pair we would make!"

"Oh, now stop it!" she laughed. "You get upstairs and find a lovely young lady to enjoy the music with!"

"You be sure to make your way to the kitchen and sneak some of those little tarts they'll be passing around. They'll be gone before the night is half done, so you'd better hurry." Sherlock threw her a wink as he passed by her and continued on down the hall and toward the stairs.

Sherlock heard the musicians warming up as he made his way up the stairs, and saw that the crowd was indeed already gathering. He quickly spotted John and made his way over.

"Miss Hawkins is here," was the first thing John said.

"Is that meant to excite me?" Sherlock asked in a monotone.

"You should care to have some women present who you've actually met. You'll want to have at least a few dance partners to choose from, to start the evening at least. I'm sure as the party moves along you'll be introduced to countless more though."

"Lamentably so," he answered, and began scanning the ever growing crowd, though he wasn't sure what for.

"Looking for someone?" John asked.

"Of course not."

John smiled. "Hopefully I'll see you on the dance floor very soon. So if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go secure my first dance partner."

"Don't let me stop you, Watson." Sherlock gave him a sideways smile.

"Thank you, I never do." And John smiled back and walked over to the other side of the room where Mary was standing with Lady Holmes and Anthea.

Sherlock watched as Mary smiled at his obvious request for the first dance...no, the first _two_ dances based on the width of her smile. He also happened to make eye contact with his mother, who began making clear facial expressions at him to ask someone to dance. Sherlock looked away and rolled his eyes. He made another quick scan of the room and still saw very few women he already knew.

Reluctantly, he crossed the room and made his way toward Mrs. Hawkins and her daughter Janine, who seemed to be watching his every move anyway.

"Oh, good evening, Mr. Holmes!" Mrs. Hawkins gushed, immediately beaming that he'd come over to speak to them.

"Yes, good evening, Mrs. Hawkins," he managed before looking at Janine. "Would you do me the honor of the first dance, Miss Hawkins?"

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes, thank you," Janine accepted with a smile and look that was nothing short of flirtatious, and Sherlock immediately began to regret his decision in choosing to ask her.

Sherlock bowed and quickly walked away again toward his family with a weary expression that was not lost on his brother.

"And so the evening begins," Mycroft smiled wryly.

"I don't believe I need any commentary, Mycroft," Sherlock said gruffly.

"I'm so pleased you asked Miss Hawkins to dance!" their mother began, not caring about the boys bickering. "She's a lovely young lady! Did you request one dance or two?"

"One, mother."

"Better to secure two dances, darling. Perhaps you won't get another chance! Surely other young men will want to dance with Miss Hawkins!"

"They have my blessing," Sherlock answered. "I've no desire for more than one dance."

Lady Holmes let out a huff of irritation. "What more could you want, Sherlock? She's got a good family, she's one of the loveliest women in the entire room, and for some reason she can't keep her eyes off you! In what way is she lacking?"

"I'd venture to say that Sherlock wouldn't be able to explain it if he tried," Mary said with an understanding smile at her cousin.

Sherlock gave Mary a half smile...which drew his attention to the open doorway, and something else entirely caught his eye.

"Oh look! There's Dr. Hooper and his daughter!" Anthea said happily.

Sherlock locked eyes with Molly Hooper the second she'd stepped into the ballroom, and there were a few moments in which that connection could not be broken. Molly was the one to look away first, evidently with a bit of shyness, and it was then that the music began for the first dance. Sherlock saw Molly and her father make their way into the crowded room, and he felt a sudden sense of disappointment at the fact that he now had to go fetch Janine Hawkins.

But fetch her he did, and they danced. Sherlock endured the mundane obligatory conversation that took place as they moved along with the rest of the dancers. Janine spoke of the weather, and how much she enjoyed the summer, and how much Sherlock must enjoy some time away from the city, and what lovely things she'd heard about his London flat. Sherlock laughed inwardly at this comment. Clearly the town's residence had invented things in their gossip and made up their own minds about his city existence. It amused Sherlock to imagine their shock at seeing his actual living conditions.

At one point during their dance, Sherlock happened to look over and see Molly standing with her father, who was conversing with another gentleman... and she was watching him. When Sherlock noticed this, she quickly looked away and he saw her chewing nervously on her lower lip and trying to act as if she was looking somewhere else.

"Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes?"

"Hmm?" he suddenly remembered to acknowledge Janine as the music and dance was coming to an end.

"I wasn't sure you heard me. I was just saying that my parents are very much looking forward to having a party of their own this summer. I'm sure you and your family will be most welcome," she said, closely examining his face as she spoke. He had taken her hand by now and was leading her off the dance floor and back to where her mother sat.

Sherlock didn't really make a response to Janine's statement. He simply released her hand and gave her an obligatory tight smile. "Thank you for the dance, Miss Hawkins."

"Thank you Mr.-" but he'd already bowed quickly and turned on his heels to walk away. Janine and her mother exchanged a look.

"My...what a very odd man," Mrs. Hawkins remarked.

* * *

Sherlock rejoined his family, and was forced to meet a number of people and families whom he had no desire to speak to. He was clearly being pushed to meet eligible young women, since almost every family he was introduced to had at least one daughter. There was a lot of conspicuous clearing of John Watson's throat in an effort to remind Sherlock to at least be civil.

He didn't dance that next set of dances, having been made to meet so many guests, but now his mother began to pester him again to find a partner. He'd now been introduced to almost every single woman in the ballroom, and Lady Holmes thought it ridiculous that he waste any more time standing idle.

Sherlock was feeling awfully defiant at that moment, and knew exactly what he'd like to do about it. It gave him an immense amount of pleasure to stride confidently across the room to the one woman that his mother _wouldn't_ have picked out as his dance partner...Molly Hooper.

Molly looked up from the glass in her hand with wide eyes and parted lips.

"Good evening, Dr. Hooper," he said, addressing her father first.

"Yes, good evening Mr. Holmes. A lovely party, and we're both very pleased to have been included...aren't we, Molly?" The man looked expectantly at his daughter who was still in some sort of trance.

"Yes um, thank you for including us."

"You're very welcome, though you'll have my women in the family to thank for that. I've nothing to do with guest lists...Now, Miss Hooper," he began looking down at her, "would you consider dancing the next with me?"

Molly had to swallow hard first, then opened her mouth, forcing words to come out. "I um- yes, Mr. Holmes, thank you, I will."

He threw them both a quick smile, then he walked away till the time came to collect Miss Hooper for the dance.

Molly placed a hand on her stomach and let out a heavy breath that she'd been holding onto. Her father reached over and took the glass she was clutching.

"My dear, do relax," he said with a small smile.

"I- I'm fine!" she said with a little laugh that was meant to validate her words.

But she really wasn't fine, especially a few minutes later when the next dance was announced as the Cotillion. The rapid and frequent changes of the steps in that dance had always been the hardest for her to master, and without the extent of training that most ladies in the room had benefited from...

"Oh, God help me," she whispered to herself.

And as soon as her desperate plea had been uttered, Sherlock came back over with arm outstretched. She placed her small gloved hand in his much larger one, and her worries were momentarily allayed as she reveled in the feeling of his fingers being wrapped around her own. They took their places among the other dancers, and the music began.

For almost the first minute, Molly began to calm down. Things were going rather well, she thought...until she bumped into another gentleman, and they stopped going so well.

That was how it started, and it only continued from there. The mortification Molly immediately felt at moving in the wrong direction and bumping into another dancer only served to make her more nervous. She felt her face heat up and turn a deep shade of red. She hazarded a glance at her perfectly composed and graceful dance partner and Sherlock frowned ever so slightly, wondering what was happening to her, and of course this upset her even more. She made one, then two, then three more missteps or wrong turns in the course of those next few minutes, and it was not long before her elation at dancing with Sherlock Holmes had turned into nothing more than anxiety.

Molly became desperate for some sort of distraction, and thought that she should break the terrible silence between the two of them.

"Mr. Holmes, have you done any more interesting experiments lately, or perhaps-"

"Perhaps, Miss Hooper, it would be best if we focus on the dance and save the distraction of conversation for another time," he answered quickly.

That was the last straw. It was all Molly could do not to burst into tears at that very moment. What could be worse? Her own partner didn't even want to converse for fear it would turn her into an even more inept dancer than she already was! She wanted nothing more than for the dance to be over, and she was more than sure he felt the same.

Mercifully, a minute later, the music finally came to a halt and they all bowed. Molly placed her trembling hand in Sherlock's once again and they walked back over to where Molly's father sat watching. He was carefully watching his daughter's face, and looked at her with compassionate concern.

Sherlock bowed and said, "Thank you, Miss Hooper," as he released her hand. He saw the color of her cheeks, and the way her chest rose and fell so rapidly, and her reluctance to meet his eyes, and he knew she was more than embarrassed.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she uttered quickly with only a brief look up at him. Sherlock didn't walk off instantly, as she'd hoped he would, so she knew she would have to be the one to make an exit. If not, she would have the added shame of crying in front of him.

"Forgive me, um...please excuse me," she said to both her father and Sherlock, and then left the ballroom, through a different door than she'd come through upon their arrival.

There was an awkward moment of silence between the two men left in her wake as they both looked at each other. Dr. Hooper began working to rise from where he sat, with some difficulty. "Perhaps I should go and-"

"With your permission, Dr. Hooper," Sherlock immediately cut in, "allow me."

Dr. Hooper regarded Sherlock with a discerning eye, and after a moment of silence, he nodded his head in acceptance. Sherlock gave him one nod in return, and turned away.

Dr. Hooper watched the tall dark haired man walk off in pursuit of his distressed daughter, and he wondered if this could possibly end up being a moment that he would look back on fondly...

* * *

Molly was grateful that she inadvertently took a helpful route out of the ballroom. She walked through an adjoining sitting room, which held a wall of doors that led out to a massive terrace overlooking the back property of Seaborne. She let herself out and walked over to the stone railing. She laid her forearms against it's cool smoothness as she tilted her head upward to look at the moon, and for a moment, she felt some peace, even though she also had to swipe away a bit of moisture from her eyes. What a fool she'd been to think this would be some sort of special evening...Then she heard the sound of another pair of footsteps on the terrace.

_Oh God, please just go away,_ she begged in her head as she saw Sherlock walking in her direction. She turned back toward the open sky and hills, and tried to ignore the fact that he'd come to a stop a few feet away, resting his arms on the stone in mirror image of her. The silence between them was killing her, and she began to contemplate making another embarrassing exit.

"In case you are assuming that I have been somehow shamed and offended by your less than perfect dancing skills, let me remind you that I pay little mind to what others think of me. In fact I rather prefer to stand away from the crowd."

Molly's head turned at his words, and he looked to her as well. She saw that he was serious. Molly pressed her lips together and looked away again before clearing her throat and answering.

"All the same, forgive me. I had hoped I would do better than that. I've just...never been good at those dances. I have a difficult time always going the right way. There are so many changes to remember. It's just my own lack of practice of course." There was still shame coloring her words as she played with the buttons on her gloves.

Sherlock nodded to himself as he listened. "I myself also tire of dances such as that," he said with a sigh.

Molly looked at him and frowned. "But you dance so well. I'm sure you are never once out of step."

He shrugged casually and turned to face her while still leaning on the stone. "Perhaps, but being good at something does not mean that one cannot tire of it... I have long wished that there were other sorts of dances that could be incorporated into parties such as this."

Molly continued to look a bit confused. "Other sorts of dances?"

Sherlock first smiled in reply as a plan formulated in his mind, then he asked, "Have you heard of the waltz, Miss Hooper?"

Molly immediately turned a little pink and her eyes shifted away for a moment. Of course she'd heard of the waltz. She'd heard of how wildly inappropriate it was!

"Um, yes, of course I have," she answered quietly.

Sherlock pushed himself away from the railing and took a few steps around the terrace as he spoke again. "It really is an excellent form of dancing. Simpler, in a way, but it also offers much more freedom of movement." He looked at her with a little gleam of pleasure in his eyes. "In fact, I do believe that you would be much more at ease while dancing the waltz, in comparison to the more typical group dances. What do you say? Shall we give it a try?"

Molly's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to...Question his logic? Hotly protest? Beg to begin?...She honestly wasn't quite sure.

Sherlock's own face formed the expression of a wordless _Ah, I see,_ and he clicked his tongue before he answered with a hint of humor in his voice. "I have offended you. Perhaps you would prefer if I made an exit and left you alone to contemplate the intricate and restrictive rules of propriety that our society is currently a slave to. My apologies." He began to turn slowly away.

"W-wait!" Oh, she was almost positive she was about to regret this, for one reason or another.

Sherlock turned back, facing her with a still amused look on his face. "Yes, Miss Hooper?"

"I um- yes, I would like to...give it a try," she said with a nod to punctuate her brave declaration.

"Hm, I thought you might. And I can just hear the music. This should work nicely enough." He smiled, and then the business like expression returned as he walked over to stand a few feet away from her. "Now, I will demonstrate the basic steps and you will, of course, be mirroring them when we do actually dance. Watch closely...Now try to keep count as I'm doing this. Count, _one_ , two, three, _one,_ two, three, _one,_ two, three, and so on."

Molly watched his feet move in the admittedly simple steps, and she softly counted along as he'd instructed.

"Now, try to move your feet in time. You may count to yourself if that is helpful."

Molly hesitated at first, feeling incredibly self-conscious given not only the recent dancing atrocity, but also the intimacy of this new dancing experience. But finally she began moving her feet along with his, trying to mirror his steps accurately. She huffed in frustration as she took her first misstep and stopped.

"You see, there is another reason why this sort of dance would be to your benefit, Miss Hooper." With that, he stepped over till he was toe to toe with her, standing at a dizzying proximity. Then he spoke in a low tone as his lip curled in a smile. "I will lead."

Molly looked up at him and managed a nervous smile in return, as he went on.

"So, I would place my hand, just here." Sherlock slipped his right hand around her torso, placing it against her left shoulder blade. "And you would place your hand on my arm, just below my shoulder."

Molly slowly brought her hand up and placed it where he'd instructed and then raised her eyes back up to his as he began to speak again.

"And then I take your right hand with my left," which he did, "and we would begin."

"Alright," Molly whispered back.

They started moving then, along with the music that they could just barely hear. Molly was counting furiously in her head, and she was sure that her heart was going to beat right out of her chest and bounce away. She kept her eyes mostly downward, monitoring her feet closely and noticing every time she didn't match his steps perfectly.

"Miss Hooper?" he finally said softly.

"Hmm?" she answered, still looking at her struggling feet.

"Miss Hooper, you are throwing off your balance."

"What? How do you mean?"

"Look at me."

Molly's head snapped up and she looked at him for a moment, but then looked back down a moment later. Sherlock stopped dancing and his hand came around from her back to gently grasp her chin, tilting her head back up and connecting their eyes again.

" _Keep_ looking at me," he emphasized, with a smile. "Do not look at your feet; keep your eyes on mine."

This was a lot to ask, for more than one reason. Molly already felt like her entire body was about to burst into flames, but to add constant eye contact to the equation was beyond daunting. She also couldn't understand how _not_ watching her feet could somehow improve her dancing. But she did as he said as they began moving again, and she swore to herself that even if a storm began raging around them, she was not going to break her connection with those eyes.

"There," he said. "That helps, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it does," she smiled back, beginning to relax into the steps and actually enjoying the feeling.

"You're doing much better. Now, watch this." Sherlock used the hand on her waist to give her a little nudge and spin her under his arm that he raised, then he brought her back in to their original stance.

Molly smiled and laughed a little. "Now you've ruined my lovely steps! I was doing so well!"

"Ah, but that's the trick. If you practice a bit more, you'll be able to keep the steps going even during the spin."

He was right. After a couple more attempts, Molly was able to keep from halting the steps her feet were supposed to take, even as she spun under his arm. She was really enjoying this, and she was more than enjoying the feeling of dancing with _him._

"It's a shame we can't dance like this at every party...Well, I don't mean _us_ exactly! I just meant everyone. It's a shame everyone can't dance like this."

Sherlock smirked at her misspoken words. "Too much contact, of course. Can't be stirring up improper _feelings_ between dancing couples! Rather laughable," he scoffed.

It occurred to Molly, in that moment, that he didn't see that as a problem. Even though she was basking in the joy of dancing with this man who she couldn't deny she felt an especially strong attraction to, she was a little cut down by the tone of his words. In essence, he was implying that sort of impropriety was not an issue for _them_. Therefore, he must not view her in such a way at all. She was thrilled at the idea that she'd become a friend of Sherlock Holmes, and at the same time crushed, because it seemed likely that was all she'd ever be. She listened as he went on.

"As I said, I care nothing for the acceptance and company of others. We should feel free to steal away at any such party and enjoy a more modern form of dancing if we please."

"I would like that, yes," she answered quite honestly.

"Good," he smiled back.

Just then, the music began to slow, and just as he was about to release her, John Watson walked out onto the terrace.

"Holmes! Holmes, are you- Oh... there you are." John looked back and forth between the two people. Molly had quickly stepped away upon John's arrival, but it wasn't exactly a mystery as to what he'd just walked in on. "I was just coming to tell you that Dr. Hooper was looking for his daughter, but I see I've found you both. How convenient," John smiled.

"Is he alright?" Molly asked, stepping forward.

"He's fine, but was coughing a bit. When I was assisting him, he mentioned that you'd be gone for a few minutes, and he hoped you hadn't gotten lost. I told him I'd look for you."

Sherlock realized that Dr. Hooper was likely not concerned about his daughter being lost, seeing as the man knew he'd followed after her. His concern was probably of a very different sort, but Sherlock decided not to voice this deduction.

"Thank you Dr. Watson, I'll see to him." Molly began to walk off, but turned quickly with a brief smile at Sherlock. "Oh, and thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"You're welcome, Miss Hooper."

Molly walked away, and a moment later, John Watson turned to look at Sherlock with brows raised high and eyes wide. "Holmes, what exactly are you playing at?"

"What exactly do you mean?" Sherlock asked in a playfully challenging tone.

John shook his head and sighed. "Be careful."

Sherlock gave a little huff of dismissal.

"I'm being very serious," John said, and his tone indeed was serious. "Are you falling in love with Miss Hooper?"

Sherlock looked at him like he'd just sprouted a couple extra heads. "Don't be ridiculous, Watson! You know me better than that. We were _dancing,_ that is all!"

"Then do not give her hope when you're intent is friendship! That woman is about to lose quite a lot, and her life will never be the same. Do not take anything else away from her. And that includes her good name! That is one of the only things she will have once her father is gone, and if she loses that, then where will she be?!"

"I have not indicated that my intent was anything other than that of friendship. She's an intelligent woman, I'm sure she will not jump to conclusions! And as for her good name, I think you know me better than to assume I'd do anything to ruin that." He gave John a brief glare.

"And do you think it takes much more than a private moonlit waltz to ruin a woman's reputation? Do not be foolish, that's all I'm saying. Besides, perhaps you should think about the possibility of pursuing something more."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Haven't we just spoken on this topic earlier today?"

John threw his hands up. "Alright, alright, I'll say no more tonight! Just, please, remember what I said. Come on, we need to rejoin the party."

Sherlock did rejoin the party, but he didn't enjoy himself all that much. He endured three more dances with some other eager young ladies, but there was little appeal, even in the dancing anymore. He noticed that another young man asked Molly to dance as well. She did better than she had with him, it being a simpler dance. But for some reason, the scene gave him little pleasure to witness. Frankly, he wanted the evening to be over by that time. He wanted to retreat to his library, or his lab, or maybe even his bed.

Dr. Hooper stayed only another hour, and then had to leave due to more discomfort and coughing. Molly gave Sherlock a look from across the room as she made her exit, and he watched her disappear through the doors. He looked around the room, locating the people he was closest to. John was dancing with Mary, Mycroft was sulking in the corner with Anthea not far off, and his mother would push him to dance with more young women if he got too close to her.

It was not five minute later that Sherlock decided the night was officially over. He sneaked off to his lab, and did what he could to entertain himself till the noises and guests slowly faded away. By the time he ventured back upstairs, the house was dark and quiet.

But for some reason, Sherlock didn't go right upstairs. Instead, he went out on the terrace. He stayed there for quite a long time. And it was only his desire for warmth that eventually drove him back inside.

It inexplicably felt so much colder than when he'd been there some hours before.


	6. Chapter 6

Anthea came out of her room and closed the door behind her. As she did, she saw that Mycroft had just exited his own room next door, and they briefly made eye contact. Her husband turned to begin walking down the hall toward the stairway. Anthea hurried to catch up with him for a brief moment of privacy before they were once again surrounded by others.

"Darling, where did you go last night? I woke, and was disappointed to find you gone," she said as she followed along next to him.

"I returned to my room, of course. Where else would I have gone?" he answered, looking uncomfortable.

"You needn't do that. I would have slept easier had you stayed. And surely servants have come across a man in his wife's bed a time or two," she added with a small laugh, trying to lighten the interchange.

Mycroft sighed and turned toward her as they halted at the top of the stairs. "Anthea, honestly! This is hardly the time or place for this sort of talk!"

"And what alternative do you leave me?" she asked desperately. "We are barely ever alone! And it seems to be by your design!"

"Anthea," he shook his head, "please...I am trying."

"You are not trying, Mycroft, please don't lie. That is not what you are doing." She lowered her voice a bit for his benefit. "What you are doing is paying your wife a brief visit once a week, and then sneaking off as if you've committed a sin!"

Mycroft's eyes widened in horror. "Why are we speaking of this?!"

"I don't know what else to do! I don't know what _not_ to do either!" her voice began to shake. "Have I done something wrong? I wanted us to be happy. I wanted us to grow in feeling for one another. And, God help me, I have! But you haven't, and I wish I knew why. Do you care at all about us? Do you even want to love me?!"

"Anthea!" he said, raising his voice, then pressing his lips together tightly to regain his composure. He softened his voice a bit as he continued. "I am giving you all that I have to offer. I wish that you would not press me for more."

Husband and wife stared at each other silently and sadly for a moment, then Anthea spoke again softly. "I will not press you for more, Mycroft, if that is what you need from me. But please understand, please never forget, that I will never stop _wishing_ for more."

Anthea left Mycroft standing there at the top of the stairs, rather speechless for a moment. He swallowed hard and had to take a deep breath before following his wife down the stairs to join the rest of their family.

"Good morning, Mary," Anthea smiled, doing her best to forget about the interchange upstairs.

"Good morning," Mary answered, turning briefly away from John who she sat with by the window. "I'm looking forward to this afternoon."

"As am I! It'll be a lovely visit, I'm sure."

"What's this?" John asked.

"We asked Miss Hooper to tea this afternoon," Mary explained.

"Ah, how nice. Be sure your cousin doesn't steal her away," he chuckled.

Mary laughed at the thought, "I'm sure we can hold onto our guest."

John shrugged. "I've given you fair warning...Be sure to give her my regards. I'll be paying her father a visit while she's here I believe. I need to see how the poor man is holding up."

"Is he very bad?" Mary asked with a sad look.

"He is. He'll likely be gone by summer's end."

"Oh, I didn't realize! How awful. Poor Miss Hooper! She will have nobody!"

"I am sure her father thinks of little else as well. It is certainly a time for all of us to do what we can for them. And it is a time when she will be glad to have the company of good friends." John gave Mary a warm smile.

"I will be glad to do whatever I can, of course," she smiled back.

John couldn't look away from those eyes. He wondered how it was possible to hold back much longer. He would have to speak honestly soon, and he hoped he hadn't misread the clues as to what her response would be.

"Miss Morstan, I...I wonder if I may speak to you...privately. Perhaps after dinner tonight?" John asked slowly.

Mary's expression suddenly changed a bit. She looked sad. "Perhaps, Dr. Watson. Ask me again after dinner."

"Alright, I will speak to you again," John said, looking pleased.

Mary's pulse raced and she tried desperately to think what she should do. Had she been a fool to entertain this friendship even for a few weeks' time? She chastised herself for not keeping her heart more closely guarded. She'd been reckless, and now she would be forced to pay the price with an undoubted humiliating rejection.

"Where is Sherlock?" Lady Holmes asked from the breakfast table.

"He was here a little while ago," Mary explained. "He came in and took a piece of bread, then said he was going to be in his lab."

"That boy," his mother sighed. "I absolutely do not know what to do with him!"

"He doesn't know what to do with himself," John muttered.

Only Mary heard him, and she had to control the volume of her giggle.

* * *

"Father, are you sure you can spare me? I can send word that I'm needed here at home."

"Absolutely not!" Dr. Hooper managed between coughs. "You will have tea with Miss Morstan and Mrs. Holmes, I will not have you cancel because of me. I am perfectly fine. Besides, Dr. Watson is going to see me today, and will be here shortly."

"Alright," Molly said reluctantly.

"Perhaps you will also see Mr. Sherlock Holmes today as well?"

"Well, I don't know. He will likely be busy with his own affairs. He tries to keep occupied, you see. He keeps bees, and he does experiments." Her eyes lit up a bit as she added, "He has so many microscopes, you wouldn't believe it! It's a marvelous collection! He examines things and records his findings."

"Does he? Hmm," Dr. Hooper answered, watching the change in his daughter's features. "And you've...seen this collection?"

Molly's began to flush a bit. "He um, has a sort of...lab, at Seaborne. He showed me once...It was nice."

"I see." Dr. Hooper smiled slyly. "Mr. Holmes must think very highly of you to include you in such a thing."

Molly blushed much darker now as she laughed nervously. "Oh no! No, no, it's nothing like that, father. We are just...friends."

"Friends?" Dr. Hooper questioned, seeming less than convinced.

"Mm hmm," Molly smiled, trying to seem relaxed.

"So he hasn't expressed any...interest?" he asked pointedly.

"No, no, none at all...which is fine!" she answered quickly, with a far too cheerful smile.

Her father nodded again, quietly considering the facts at hand as Molly puttered around their sitting room, readying herself to leave.

Nicholas Hooper thought about everything that had happened over the past few weeks, and began to feel tightness in his chest. And it was not the sort that had anything to do with his physical illness. In a matter of minutes, he went from a father with the very highest sort of hopes and dreams for his daughter's future, to a father in fear for his daughter's reputation and well-being. He was afraid something may need to be done about it.

It was an extremely uncomfortable feeling.

* * *

"You looked absolutely beautiful that night, Miss Hooper! And nobody in that room would have said differently!" Anthea smiled.

"Oh, you're both very kind," she said shyly. "It was the only gown that was anywhere near right for the occasion, so I'm glad you think it was appropriate."

"Of course it was," Mary assured her. "Oh, but will you and your father be attending the Hawkins' ball in a fortnight?"

Molly shrugged. "Perhaps. We were pleased to get an invitation, but I suppose it will depend on how my father is feeling."

"Surely your father would want you to attend even if he is not quite well enough! And perhaps you'll need something else to wear. Your dress was lovely, as we said, but perhaps you'd prefer not to wear the same thing again."

Molly looked a little confused and uncomfortable. "Well, I'm not sure if I really can..."

"I'd very much like to let you borrow something of mine, Miss Hooper," Mary offered happily.

Molly's eyes got wide. "Oh no, I couldn't! That is far too kind of you, Miss Morstan!"

"No, it isn't!" she laughed. "It would give me great pleasure to see more of my gowns getting some use. I insist you take something home with you today!"

"I- I don't quite know what to say," Molly said, beginning to smile at them both.

"Say yes, of course! And I want to see as well! I hope you'll let me help choose," Anthea said excitedly.

"I'm sure I'll be pleased to have the help of you both," Molly said very honestly. "I believe I am better at medicine than fashion."

"And do not apologize for it, my dear! Would that we all had the skills to save the lives of those around us...Or perhaps, on occasion, poison them!" Mary whispered with a giggle, and then all three of them began laughing.

"Would you like some more tea?" Anthea offered Molly.

Molly was just about to open her mouth in answer when they heard the sound of the front door open and close with a crash. A moment later, a figure came whooshing past the door, and the three women looked at each other. Molly was pretty sure that was...

Suddenly Sherlock rushed back and appeared in the doorway with eyes looking a little wild. "Ah, Miss Hooper! How fortunate that you are here!"

"M-me?" she questioned, gesturing to herself.

"Yes, you are Miss Hooper, are you not?" he said with a sigh of exasperation as he came into the room and approached Molly where she sat. Then he turned to Mary and Anthea with an apologetic grimace. "Forgive me, ladies, but I must borrow your guest. Won't be long!"

"Wait, what?" Mary frowned.

Sherlock turned back toward Molly. "Miss Hooper, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the lab for a moment? There's a small favor I must ask of you." He gave her a winning smile that made it difficult for her to say anything but yes.

Molly hesitantly rose from her seat while looking at the other two women. "Um, excuse me, I'll be...right back, I suppose." She looked back at the two women as Sherlock quickly ushered her out of the room, and then the two of them were gone.

Mary and Anthea were silent for a moment, then they looked at each other in shock.

"What exactly was that?" Anthea asked, beginning to crack a smile.

"I can't quite believe it, but I think...that Sherlock just stole our guest!" Mary covered her mouth as she tried to stifle a laugh.

* * *

"That's absolutely beautiful!" Molly gasped as she peered into the lens of the microscope. "What is it?"

"That is the wing of one of my honey bees. I found a dead one and have been examining bits of it all morning. I couldn't believe my luck when I saw that you happened to be here for tea!" he said happily as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh?" she smiled. "But you haven't told me what you need me for yet, Mr. Holmes."

"You haven't guessed yet?" he said with a gleam in his eyes. He rushed over to a nearby drawer and produced some paper and a pencil. He smiled at Molly, looking very pleased with himself. "There, you see! I readied supplies for just such an occasion!"

"Ah, I see! You want me to sketch this," she smiled, finally understanding his need for her help.

"Well, you had offered before. I am taking you at your word."

Molly nodded. "Alright. I'll just do a quick sketch. Perhaps I can take it with me and clean it up a bit. I could send it back to you with Dr. Watson, when next I see him."

"Excellent," he grinned.

Molly looked back into the microscope. She straightened up and moved the stack of papers over and took the pencil in hand. She was silent as she alternated between leaning over the microscope, and making quick pencil strokes on the page.

Sherlock stood a few feet away, leaning on the table. His gaze kept getting pulled back in her direction. He watched her, and watched her, and began to feel a sort of admiration which was a rarity for him. She had the focused eyes of a scientist, the clever steady hands of a doctor, and the mind of a student. But it was all wrapped up in the petite body of a young woman. She was unusual, and Sherlock found anything unusual to be intriguing. He felt more than intrigued though.

There was something vaguely uncomfortable about watching her; an unexplainable discomfort. It was the sort of feeling that made him want to gruffly order her to leave, and also beg her to stay, all at the same time. His brow furrowed and his eyes darted back and forth as he lost himself in thought for some time.

"Mr. Holmes?" her small voice cut through his mind, and made him look back at her. "I'm done, if you'd like to have a look." She handed him the paper.

Sherlock was genuinely impressed. It was a rough sketch, yes. But it was beautiful, and he felt like he was looking through the microscope all over again. He shied away from being overly complimentary though.

Sherlock cleared his throat as he handed it back. "Perfectly fine, thank you. You may take your time in getting it back to me."

"Alright," she smiled back. "I should probably get back to Miss Morstan and Mrs. Holmes now."

"Of course, yes. I believe you know the way back upstairs," he gave her a quick smile before turning his attention back to the microscope.

"I do, yes," Molly said softly. She hung back for just a moment, smiling at him, even though he was looking down and unaware. Finally she turned and went to the door. She uttered a gentle "Good day, Mr. Holmes," as she left and closed the door behind her.

Only after she'd left did Sherlock dare to straighten up and look toward the now closed and quite door, and whisper, "Good day, Miss Hooper."

* * *

"Dr. Hooper, there's no sense in being a hero. If you need it, do feel free to use it," John urged as began gathering up his things.

The man chuckled, which produced another round of coughing. "You can be honest with me, Dr. Watson. You think I should freely use laudanum because I won't be around for long anyway, isn't that right?"

John sighed. "I think you should use it if needed, because nobody deserves to be so uncomfortable. And I've said before, I'm no expert. You may be kicking me out of your practice soon!" He gave the man a pat on the back.

Just then, Molly came through the door and walked into her father's office. "Oh, good day, Dr. Watson! I'm glad to see you," she smiled.

"You as well, Miss Hooper. Just come back from Seaborne?"

"I have, yes. What a lovely time I had!"

"What is that there?" her father asked, seeing the garment draped over her arm.

"Oh, Miss Morstan was kind enough to lend me one of her gowns for the Hawkins' ball."

"Ah, how very kind indeed," Dr. Hooper said, and also smiled warmly at John. "That settles it, you will certainly have to attend, even if I am under the weather."

"Father, I'd never leave you if you needed any care, dress or no dress, you know that," she said, giving his cheek a pat.

"Well then I shall be determined to need no care whatsoever!" he announced happily.

Just then, Molly turned and a piece of paper fluttered from her pocket.

John bent down and looked at it as he handed it back. "That's a lovely sketch, Miss Hooper. Did you do that?"

"Oh, um, yes," she answered, suddenly looking a little nervous as she glanced at her father. "Mr. Holmes, he needed me to sketch something for him this afternoon. Just a little honey bee's wing that he was examining under the microscope, that's all. I was going to improve on it a bit before giving it back to him." She folded the paper and put it back in her pocket.

"Ah," John answered, taking in the look on her father's face. "Well it's nicely done. I'm sure he was very grateful."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson...Well, good day to you, I should go and hang this up." Molly smiled at both men, and then exited the room.

There was silence for a moment, and then John picked up his satchel and began walking to the door.

"Just a moment, Dr. Watson," Dr. Hooper said, stopping him in his tracks. He went over to his desk and grabbed a piece of his paper, scribbling something on it. He waved it in the air briskly, drying the ink, and picked up an envelope. As he walked over to John, he folded and stuffed the paper into the envelope. "Could you do me a great favor, and deliver this to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

John looked at the envelope and took it slowly from the man. "Well, of course, Dr. Hooper. That's no problem at all," he smiled.

"Thank you very much. You've saved me a bit of time in having it sent out."

John smiled again as he put the envelope in his coat pocket. "I shall see that he gets it as soon as I reach Seaborne."

John Watson left the Hooper's home that day with the most burning desire to see what was in that envelope. Somehow, he didn't believe that it had anything to do with business...

* * *

Sherlock and John both exited Seaborne the next afternoon.

"So, Dr. Hooper asked you to tea? That's all he said?" John asked as Sherlock approached the horse that had been made ready and waiting for him in front of the house.

"Yes, that's all. Probably about business," Sherlock answered, with little concern.

"Mm, of course," John nodded, looking at the horse instead of his friend, for fear of giving away his suspicions.

"I shouldn't be long. Will you be here when I return?"

"Not likely. I am out today myself. Must see patients, and I'm sure I'm likely to be much longer than planned. Oh, just a minute," he said stopping Sherlock from getting on the horse. "Is, uh, is Miss Morstan alright? She wasn't at dinner last night. I didn't see her at the breakfast table either."

Sherlock shrugged. "I believe she told my mother that she was feeling unwell and wanted to stay in her room last night. She must have been unwell still this morning."

"I see," John said glumly. "It's just that I, I had told her I'd speak to her last night, and she'd seemed agreeable...Well, no matter." John put on a smile.

Sherlock laughed lightly as he mounted the horse. "Don't you see? Look at all the trouble I save myself! I never have such worries!" he said proudly. At his bidding, the horse began to walk and Sherlock waved to John over his shoulder as he rode away.

"Do not speak so soon, Holmes," John said to himself as he waved back. "Do not speak so soon."

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," the Hooper's housekeeper smiled to him as she came into the sitting room with the tea and some biscuits. "Dr. Hooper will be right in."

"Thank you," Sherlock nodded as he helped himself to a biscuit.

Not long after Mrs. Hart had left the room, Dr. Hooper did come in. "Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I apologize for my delay," he said with a tight smile at the dark haired man sitting on his small couch.

"Not a problem."

Dr. Hooper took a seat and Sherlock frowned slightly as he observed the man, because he seemed to be fidgeting more than normal. He looked a bit like Molly when Sherlock had seen her acting nervously. He knew enough to conclude that something was bothering him.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation. I must confess that I sent you that note with very little forethought involved. It was done in the heat of the moment, and I worried afterward that I might regret my actions. But, you see, the state of my health has made me rather acutely aware of how fast time passes away from us. And it motivates me to act quickly." Dr. Hooper paused and looked pointedly at Sherlock. "I am not long for this world, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock looked back at him evenly, and replied, "I know."

Dr. Hooper let out a short laugh. "I appreciate that about you, Mr. Holmes. You are not one to sugar coat anything. Another man may spend time arguing with me, and telling me to keep my chin up, and surely I'll be better in no time."

"I've never seen the point in such a thing. Yet another waste of the time that you so aptly said, 'passes away from us,'" Sherlock said honestly as he clasped his hands together atop his lap.

"Yes," Dr. Hooper nodded. "That is why I hope you will appreciate the fact that I myself am about to speak to you especially frankly."

Sherlock tilted his head, regarding the man with slight confusion now. He said nothing, and waited for Dr. Hooper to continue.

"I regret that you have placed me in a rather awkward position, Mr. Holmes. I am, at present, in your debt. You and your friend Dr. Watson have done me a great service, and have taken a weight off my shoulders which could not have been lifted in any other way I think. And for many men, that alone would compel them to stay silent... but I cannot. I am a doctor and a business man, it is true. But I am a father before all else, and there is nothing I love or care for more than my daughter. That is why I have asked you here today. And if this conversation damages our business relationship, then so be it."

Sherlock frowned. "You asked me to tea because of...Miss Hooper?" he asked slowly.

Dr. Hooper coughed briefly into his handkerchief, took a deep breath, then continued. "That love for my daughter, Mr. Holmes, compels me to ask you a question that will no doubt be uncomfortable for us both...What are your feelings and intention toward my daughter?"

Sherlock's eyebrows rose quickly, and he swallowed hard. Had he really just heard those words leave this man's lips? The whole situation felt a bit surreal, and he was left wondering how he'd failed to see it coming.

"Mr. Holmes?" Dr. Hooper prompted.

Sherlock cleared his throat and finally opened his mouth to answer. "Dr. Hooper, I...I believe you are perhaps mistaken in what you seem to be thinking. Miss Hooper- your daughter- is merely a friend of mine."

Dr. Hooper nodded. "As a matter of fact, that is what I thought. That is what I'd been told by her. But thank you for confirming it."

Sherlock's expression relaxed a bit. He thought smugly that he'd been right, despite what John had said. Molly Hooper indeed wasn't foolish enough to assume he was about to propose simply because of a bit of intelligent conversation and a dance. But then his thoughts were interrupted by Dr. Hooper again.

"Do you think though, that makes your behavior acceptable?"

Sherlock looked taken aback again. This was certainly a new experience. Never before had he been subjected to a conversation such as this.

"I...I have done nothing indecent, if that is what you are suggesting, sir." Sherlock's tone turned just a touch harder.

"I am suggesting no such thing, Mr. Holmes. But nothing indecent need be done, to ruin the good chances for my daughter's future. Surely you cannot be ignorant to that reality," he said seriously. "And surely you can appreciate the fact that even if _you_ have no wish to marry her, perhaps another man will. I can only hope that her good name is enough to earn her the admiration of the right sort of man."

Sherlock couldn't help a small sigh of frustration. He resented the obligation of marriage, and not just for himself. Molly Hooper had more to offer than her ability to share a bed and produce children. He thought that this man was different, that he saw his daughter differently than most, but it seemed he was wrong.

"And that is your heartfelt concern for your daughter?" he asked in a slightly challenging tone. "You want her to marry? How predictable."

Dr. Hooper's eyes flashed in disgust as Sherlock's underlying insult. "You think I simply want my daughter to marry well, and that is my concern? Mr. Holmes, allow me to speak even more plainly. My hope is that my daughter will simply be able to _live_ after I am gone. My hope is that she will not have _everything_ taken from her, including me. You do not understand everything that is at stake." He had to pause and draw breath as he was becoming winded.

As Dr. Hooper tried to catch his breath, Sherlock finally made the mental calculations. He froze with lips parted as it all began to make sense.

"You are destitute," Sherlock blurted out at the same moment the thought formed in his own mind. Dr. Hooper's eyes snap to him. "In fact, you are in terrible debt. So much so, that you can be sure your home and property will be seized at the time of your death. Miss Hooper will quite literally have...nothing."

Dr. Hooper looked back at him sadly as he listened to the words that cut him to the heart. It had been bad enough when these things were kept locked up in his heart, but to hear them spoken aloud, made them so painfully real. He let out a ragged breath before speaking again.

"When my wife died twenty one years ago, just after giving birth to Molly, I almost died as well. I was a successful doctor in London at the time, and that's where my whole life was. But suddenly, I didn't want to be there anymore. I wanted to get as far away from the city as I could. And at the same time, I had this tiny little person who was dependent on me and me alone. Most expected me to marry again as quickly as possible, purely to secure another mother figure for Molly. But the love for my late wife ran far too deep, and I could not even think of doing such a thing. It made sense to me, to instead make a quieter life for us in the country. I had the name and reputation to recommend me to the wealthy country families. That's where I wanted Molly and I to be. And I did it...but at great cost. I used everything I had to secure land and a home for us here. From then on I have tried to be conservative. I've kept only a small staff, and we live simply. But it was never quite enough. I have acquired much debt over the years, particularly the past five years."

"There are no male relatives then?" Sherlock asked, seeing where this was going.

Dr. Hooper shook his head. "There were some years that I believed things could work. I believed that if I were to die, which I didn't realize was so soon a guarantee, Molly would get everything. She could be master of her own future. So in answer to your accusation of my _trivial_ concern, you are very much mistaken. If I could live to be an old man, or if I'd amassed no debt, I would have let my Molly continue here forever if she wished. If this is the life she loves, I'd never have pushed her out of it! But life does not always go the way we want, Mr. Holmes, and now I sometimes regret that I allowed Molly to become the woman she is," he said sadly.

Dr. Hooper went on. "Even when she was small, she loved science and medicine. I tried halfheartedly to discourage the interest. But the truth is that I absolutely loved how much happiness those things brought her! I couldn't bear to steer her away from it. And so I took her under my wing, in a way that most fathers surely wouldn't. She has always had me, and she has had this profession that I chose. But now, she will have all of that taken from her, and I have only myself to blame. If I'd been truly selfless, I'd have brought her up the way a lady should be. Or I'd have remarried and made sure there was a woman to properly bring her up. Perhaps she would be married by now if I had. I now fear that day will never come for her, at least not while I'm still alive."

Sherlock looked on somberly as he listened, and he added, "And if she doesn't..."

"She will lose everything," Dr. Hooper finished for him. "I have nothing to give her, nothing to leave her. She will soon be homeless, and destitute. Molly will be forced to find some sort of employment. She will likely need to seek out some sort of work as a governess. More often than not, a girl in such circumstances will end up very far from her home. Perhaps in Ireland, or something," Dr. Hooper sighed, and looked at Sherlock as he spoke those words.

That was when Dr. Hooper saw something that made him mentally pause. At the mention of Molly's most likely fate, he saw an actual physical reaction in the man sitting across from him. Sherlock drew a breath, his lips parted, and he flinched slightly. It looked as if someone had come along and stabbed him in his side, but he was doing his level best to hide it. Dr. Hooper decided to continue talking, because he wasn't quite sure what to say about what he observed.

"I hope you can see things from my position now, Mr. Holmes. I have my daughter's best interest at heart, and I just want her to be happy and well cared for. I can't let anything jeopardize that. I hate to leave her as it is, but if I am forced to leave her, not knowing what her fate will be, it will be all the more painful. When I think of her being shipped off somewhere, forced to work, barely surviving, I just-"

"It won't happen."

Dr. Hooper stopped talking and looked at Sherlock who had rapidly spoken those three words. "Forgive me, Mr. Holmes, but even if her reputation is left intact, her future cannot be guaranteed," he replied, wondering why Sherlock had picked this moment to start sugar coating things.

"Yes it can, and it will be," Sherlock said simply. He looked like he didn't know quite what to do with his expression and had looked away for a second, but then he met Dr. Hooper's eyes again and spoke firmly. "I will guarantee it."

Dr. Hooper frowned at him for a moment in confusion, and Sherlock took the opportunity to continue speaking.

"I will pay your debtors, and ensure that Miss Hooper never loses her home or land. That will eliminate the concern of marrying her off before your death. I will also ensure that she has a modest dowry; not small enough to give away any financial problems, but not large enough to attract the attention of money hungry suitors."

Dr. Hooper finally opened his mouth and spoke a little indignantly. "Mr. Holmes, this is not a game. I asked you here to discuss your behavior toward my daughter, and you are offering to use money to solve the problem. I will not allow you to use money as a means for you to treat Molly however you wish."

"You misunderstand me, Dr. Hooper. I am not offering to do this for my own benefit. I am simply offering you what I can, to help with your problem. My conduct toward your daughter will most likely never be entirely proper. I say that because my conduct is not entirely proper toward _anybody_! I am, and probably always will be, an unusual sort of man." He paused to purse his lips in a slightly humorous apologetic face. "But even if I never spoke to your daughter again, and she never had the chance of her name being marred by my careless behavior, that still would not guarantee her a secure future. You just admitted this yourself. If I do what I am suggesting though, her chances would be vastly improved!"

The poor man stared back at Sherlock in shock and awe, and could barely think, let alone formulate words.

"I- I cannot begin to respond, Mr. Holmes. I cannot even think what to say," he said while shaking his head slowly, still looking blown away.

"You needn't say anything except that you'll give me the list of your debtors, and give me permission to do what I have requested," Sherlock replied calmly.

Dr. Hooper straightened up and cleared his throat. "I cannot take this, I will not allow you to do such a thing, it is too much!"

"Oh, for God's sake," Sherlock groaned, sounding more like his typical unfeeling self. "This is hardly about you or your pride! This is about your daughter! Just accept and let's be done with it."

Dr. Hooper took a moment, chewing it over in his mind. And in the end, it wasn't the amount of money, or the likely success of the arrangement, that convinced him to accept. It was the glimpse of insight into the man himself who was making the offer, and the clue as to _why_ he would suggest such a thing. If he had any inkling that this man was acting with some sort of ill intent, he would have refused. But on the contrary, Dr. Hooper believed that Sherlock Holmes' offer had come from surprisingly pure motives, and possibly even some very well hidden emotions...

He stood from his seat and Sherlock followed along, standing to face him.

"Alright...I accept." Dr. Hooper held out his hand and Sherlock shook it firmly with a half-smile. "This is the second time you've come to my aid, Mr. Holmes, and I'm beginning to feel badly about my intent to chastise you earlier!" he laughed.

Sherlock shrugged. "Happens all the time, and I usually deserve it too. No matter, I'll recover more quickly than you'd like to think." He grinned at the doctor who had to laugh in response.

"I have one more question," Sherlock added, looking at Dr. Hooper suspiciously. "Does Miss Hooper know of these troubles?"

The man let out a heavy breath. "Not to this extent. She knows we have very little, but that is all. I have not wanted to worry her with some of the things I detailed to you today. I hoped to save her some of the anguish, should I happen to find a way out of my debt in time."

"And today you have been given a way out. The question is though, is this way out, something that you will share with her?"

Dr. Hooper looked at Sherlock with a discerning gaze, and it didn't take him long to decide on his answer. "Actually, Mr. Holmes, I will delegate that decision making to you. This was your gift to give, and therefore, it will be your secret to keep...or not, according to your will. I trust that you will do what's best for everyone."

Sherlock detected a strange gleam in the man's eyes, but he simply nodded in answer and said, "If that is what you prefer...I will keep the information to myself then, until such a time comes when I feel it must be revealed."

Sherlock left the Hooper's home that day with a list of names that he would be contacting very soon, in order to repay the doctor's debts. He tucked the paper carefully inside his waistcoat pocket and mounted his horse. As he rode along through the countryside, he couldn't help but wonder how he got himself into this. Never in a million years would he have thought this is how his summer was to go! He also realized that, even though it was a mere drop in the bucket, he would have to gain access to a bit more of the family's finances than he typically had. And that made him wonder aloud...

"How in God's name am I going to explain this to Mycroft?"

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	7. Chapter 7

"Are you mad?!" Mycroft demanded as quietly as he could manage, so as not to alert anyone else in the household.

"I fail to see what the problem is," Sherlock shrugged dismissively.

Mycroft let out a huff of annoyance. "Well allow me to enlighten you, brother mine! You will trigger a wave of gossip and speculation if you insist on seeing this through. There is no logical reason for you to be connected to this. This is not, and never need be, our problem. A successful man of trade decides to needlessly uproot his small family and spend all his money to do so, thus throwing him into a continued spiral of debt for the next twenty years, and eventually ensuring that his only moderately eligible daughter will be on the streets at the time of his death. _Tragic_ at most," he said with an added look of distaste, clearly indicating that he didn't see the tragedy himself, "but it still has nothing to do with _you!_ "

Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "And why precisely do we care what anybody else thinks of us? Have you ever known me to care for the circulation of gossip?"

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose before pulling his hand away and glaring at his brother. "Do you want people speculating that you've put Miss Hooper in a...compromising situation? Or perhaps that a marriage below your station is likely to be announced soon? How many more reasons are there for a man of your situation to do such a large scale favor for a lowly man and his unwed daughter?"

Sherlock snorted out a laugh. "Give the gossiping old women nine months, and I'm sure they'll come to the startling realization that they've guessed incorrectly."

"It is not just the possibility of a child, Sherlock! This is about reputation!" he sighed.

"Again, Mycroft, I care nothing for reputation! You seem to be using the wrong methods for discouraging me!"

Mycroft leaned back against his the chair at his desk. "And what exactly would discourage you?" he asked wearily.

"I am not looking to be discouraged, Mycroft."

The two men paused, and Mycroft narrowed his eyes at his younger brother as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk surface. "What I haven't asked you yet is, why _are_ you doing this? I assume the reasons that gossiping women would concoct are without basis. But that leaves me to wonder, what is it that motivates you in this endeavor? Surely this is not an act of... _sentiment_?"

Sherlock twitched in his chair a little and broke eye contact for _just_ long enough to give his astute brother the answer he needed. But Sherlock still attempted to make his argument.

"It is a logical solution. They are in need, Dr. Hooper has cared well for the medical needs of our family for the past twenty years or so, and we are able to provide aid with little or no financial hardship to ourselves," he said casually.

"Actually, I believe Dr. Hooper is about to be relieved of all his earthly needs. I think you mean to say, _Miss Hooper_ is in need," Mycroft corrected pointedly.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "If Miss Hooper is in need, then it is a need of her father's as well. The man is about to die, after all, and his death would be easier knowing that his daughter is not in immediate dire circumstances."

Mycroft gave him a small mocking smile. "As I said...sentiment."

Sherlock groaned as he stood from the chair and stalked around the room a bit. "Call it what you wish, Mycroft, but I did not speak to you in order to receive your blessing, or be given any sort of a lecture. I will use part of my personal funds, and the whole situation needn't ever cross your mind again! I am simply informing you since I know you will notice when I move any money, and you will end up inquiring on the subject eventually anyway."

"Quite right, I would certainly notice. I always notice," he said in a slightly ominous tone. "I will leave you to it then, brother. And may the consequences, whatever they may be, fall on your head alone."

"I know what I'm doing," Sherlock retorted quickly, and exited the room.

Mycroft leaned against the desk once again and whispered to himself, "Do you, Sherlock?"

* * *

"What is the matter with you this evening?" John asked as the carriage began moving, taking them to the Hawkins' ball.

Sherlock frowned at John. "Nothing is the matter with me. Why do you ask?"

"You look almost...cheerful tonight. I hope you're not somehow aware that a murder is about to take place."

"Nothing so enticing, Watson," Sherlock laughed. "No, I wouldn't exactly say I'm cheerful. I'm simply...content."

He was. Sherlock had settled into the rhythm of life lately, and wasn't so constantly unsettled being in the country. He'd also recently concluded the last bit of business that was necessary to free Dr. Hooper of debt. Yes, he'd gotten the strange looks from the man's lenders, but he didn't care about that. He gave them a generic answer about how closely Dr. Hooper had worked with the Holmes family through the years, and that they were simply doing him a small service. Mycroft was probably right; people would still talk, despite the excuses Sherlock offered. But Sherlock was excellent at failing to listen.

He did hope that the gossip wouldn't quickly reach Molly though. He had hoped to delay, or completely avoid discussing his involvement directly with her. Sherlock had also discreetly given Dr. Hooper a modest amount of money to go toward Molly's dowry. Dr. Hooper put that into a private account, so it was possible that there would at least be no scandal in connection with that money. And it was even less likely that Molly would have any knowledge of his involvement in that part of the deal.

"Content hm? Well...that must be nice," John said glumly as he stared out the carriage window.

Sherlock chuckled lightly. "Ah yes, you're still pining, are you?"

"Is this amusing to you?" John glared at him.

"Oh relax! Surely it can't be that terrible."

"She is obviously avoiding me, Holmes! Things were perfectly fine until I asked to have a private audience with her last week, and then she became incredibly distant. I can't understand it." John let out a heavy sigh.

Sherlock looked at his friend as he stared back out the window, and he reminded himself that this was not his secret to tell. Mary would absolutely murder him if he told John everything. Best to let things run their course, one way or another.

"My cousin is an independent and strong sort of woman. You may need to learn a bit of patience."

John let out a laugh. "I would be much more likely to accept your advice if I felt that you had any sort of clue at all about what you are speaking of!"

Sherlock looked insulted. "I know enough! Besides, everything can be compared to solving cases...and some take longer to solve than others."

"Not everything can be compared to solving cases, Holmes!"

Sherlock grinned confidently, "Oh, I beg to differ on that point, and I will argue it to the death!"

"I've no desire to argue with you tonight." John shook his head. "You're far too pleased with yourself, and I'm in no mood to see that!"

Sherlock and John arrived in their carriage, with Myroft, Anthea, Mary, and Lady Holmes not far behind in a second one. When they entered the ballroom, there was already a large crowd gathered and mingling, and some soft music played in the background. John immediately announced that he'd like a drink, and walked away from Sherlock, leaving him to survey the crowd.

He saw Janine glance at him from across the room, and quickly decided that he'd like to avoid asking her for the first dance again. He had plans to enjoy himself this evening, despite whatever talk people wanted to entertain. And just as he was thinking about that, he saw her.

A few guests moved aside, clearing the view to one of the far walls, and Sherlock saw Molly standing there looking unlike he'd ever seen her before. _That_ was clearly not her dress. She wore a sea green silk with layers of fabric making up the skirt. Each layer was hemmed with delicate lace, and the same lace also accentuated the capped sleeves and rather flattering neck line. There was a bit of beading along the empire waist which, despite it being daintily done, gave off a bit of shimmer from all the way across the room. Sherlock would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't momentarily captivated.

He did what he'd already been planning on doing since his arrival. He walked straight over and planned to request at least the first dance, because, for whatever reason, there wasn't another woman in the room who he felt nearly as comfortable with. There was nothing remotely appealing about any of the other young women present, so he wanted nothing more than to enjoy a more carefree dancing experience with...a friend. And he was quite sure she would want exactly the same thing.

"Miss Hooper," he said as he approached and stopped in front of her. Now that he was standing closer, he saw that her hair had been more artfully done than at the first party he'd seen her attend. Her long dark tresses were swept gracefully up and pinned in a few large swirls on the back of her head, though she had the same few stray tendrils around her face and neckline as before. "Good evening."

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," she smiled, and he was sure he saw her cheeks change shade before his eyes.

Sherlock gave her a quick and confident smile. "I had come over to secure the first dance, Miss Hooper. Shall I come and collect you when the music starts?"

Molly's face began to fall as quickly as he'd seen it light up a moment before. "Oh, um, well you see I...I cannot." He saw her swallow hard.

"You cannot? What exactly do you mean? Surely you haven't come here tonight intent on sitting out every dance." Sherlock laughed as he spoke the words.

Molly frowned a little then, looking mildly confused. "No, Mr. Holmes, what I mean to say is that I cannot because, another gentleman has already claimed the first two dances."

Sherlock let out another laugh, and was next to oblivious as her expression took a quick turn to hurt and irritation.

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, what is so funny?" she said with a little tremor in her voice.

"The first two dances? And who here has claimed the first two dances, might I ask? Surely you know a precious few gentlemen in attendance!" he said in a mocking tone.

Molly straightened up and set her mouth in a tight line as she took a breath. "I am not sure why you care, but it is that man over there, standing by the fire. He's talking with Mr. Hawkins right now."

Sherlock turned, the laughter having faded away as he realized this wasn't some sort of silly joke, and he saw the dark haired young man who Molly was referring to. He was about John's height, but of a bit slighter build. A moment after Sherlock looked over, the man turned and made eye contact with him, which for some reason made his blood run cold.

"He is Mr. James Moriarty," Molly added, almost proudly, as Sherlock turned away and looked back at her. "He's a gentleman here in town on business. He met Mr. Hawkins by chance and was invited to their party. The Hawkins introduced him to me shortly after my arrival."

"And he asked for the first two dances?" Sherlock questioned with a raised brow.

"Yes he did," Molly answered, again looking a bit injured at his tone. "Perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you see me as an unskilled dance partner. But I must confess that I do enjoy being asked to dance by a man who isn't simply acting out of charity. Perhaps Mr. Moriarty would simply like the pleasure of my company." She had to look away for a moment.

"Charity?" he questioned, the word stinging his mouth. He suddenly felt equally as irritated as her. "Well, Miss Hooper, forgive me for _insulting you_ with my request for a dance. And I wouldn't want to keep you from all the men who simply want the pleasure of your company. Wouldn't that be a sorry waste of your _borrowed_ gown? Good evening." Sherlock gave her a curt bow and promptly walked away.

Molly left her lips parted for a few moments as she watched him walk away. She wanted to say something, anything. But she didn't know exactly what that something should be. Half of her wanted to tell him how infinitely much more she would want to dance with him. She didn't care about any other man in the room, and she wouldn't have cared if they all disappeared into thin air at that moment. And the only waste of her dress that she could think of was for Sherlock not to acknowledge that she looked nice in it...The other half of her though, wanted to slap him for his rudeness. How dare he act as if there couldn't be another man here that would see her as a desirable dance partner? She may not be Janine Hawkins, but surely he couldn't believe that no gentleman would find her appealing to dance with!

Sherlock stalked quickly back across the room to where John stood. John watched his friend approach and take his place statue still next to him, staring directly ahead with mouth set tightly. The music began to play as John frowned at Sherlock, and looked a bit amused.

"I do believe that something just altered your mood. What happened since our arrival only a few minutes ago?"

"Nothing of consequence," Sherlock answered quickly.

"It does not appear that way."

Just then, John happened to catch a glimpse of where Sherlock was looking.

"Oh, who is that gentleman? Is he dancing with Miss Hooper?"

"As you see," Sherlock said flatly, then making a point to look elsewhere.

"I haven't met him yet. Does he know Miss Hooper?"

"They were just introduced. He claimed the first two dances."

"Did he? Well, I suppose I can see why. She looks quite stunning in that gown, wouldn't you say?" John peered at his friend again, who looked back toward the dancing couple.

"It...fits her properly," he managed to say.

John laughed at him. "Fits her properly? Is that all you can say? I do hope that someday you learn to give better compliments than that, Holmes!"

"To what end?" Sherlock said, punctuating each word, clearly asking as a rhetorical question.

"Ooh, I don't know, perhaps as a means of expressing how you're really feeling," John said giving Sherlock a weighty stare.

"There doesn't happen to be anything I'm in need of expressing, but thank you for your input. I'll be sure to tuck it away for use in a future case, if needed."

Sherlock continued to purposefully avoid John's gaze, and ignored the way John shook his head in dismay. In doing so, he found himself having a constant view of Molly Hooper moving to and fro on the dance floor, in her dress that looked like a wave on the ocean. And although he didn't know one tiny little thing about the man who moved with her throughout the dance and continually grasped her small hand, he found that he wanted nothing more than to have the man out of his sight...and far away from Molly.

* * *

A bit later in the evening, Mr. Hawkins approached Sherlock, John, and Mary. He had with him, Mr. James Moriarty, who kept his eyes glued to Sherlock as Mr. Hawkins began speaking.

"A good evening to you, I'm so pleased all of you could come! I had to introduce you to one of my guests. In fact, he made special request to make your acquaintance!" The man laughed jovially.

Despite the fact that Mr. Moriarty had apparently wanted to meet them, his eyes were cold, and his smile was slight at best. Sherlock himself wasn't warm in social situations, but something about this man raised red flags in his mind. He exchanged a quick look at John and hoped that he conveyed his concern clearly.

"This is Mr. James Moriarty. We met by chance and were happy to make him welcome during his stay. And this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, and Miss Mary Morstan, who is a cousin of the Holmes family."

Mr. Moriarty gave them a graceful bow and a half smile. "What a pleasure to meet all of you. Mr. Holmes, I was especially pleased to see you in attendance tonight. I've heard so much about you."

Mr. Hawkins excused himself, saying that his wife was beckoning him at the other side of the room.

Sherlock frowned slightly as he looked down at Moriarty. "You've heard about me?"

"Naturally. I'm a business man, and I know countless people. When a wealthy young man chooses to spend his time solving crimes with Scotland Yard, people tend to... _talk._ " He narrowed his eyes a bit as he finished speaking. "A man like that tends to attract attention."

"Flattered, I'm sure," Sherlock answered, almost suspiciously.

Moriarty's gaze then flicked over to Mary. His smile widened a bit as he examined her face closely. "Morstan...I know that name," he said slowly. "I knew a man once, and he married a woman named Mary Morstan."

John watched as the color drained from Mary's face, and he almost stepped in and asked if she was alright.

"Surely you must be thinking of a different Mary Morstan," she said quickly.

"I see," he said slowly as he smirked at her. "Well, I suppose I only knew the man for a short time. I don't forget a name though, or a face."

"Really?" Mary asked, trying to control her voice. She swallowed hard. "What a useful skill."

"Mm, it is. Though I'm sure some people would love to be able to forget things. Memories can be a burden at times, wouldn't you agree?" he drawled.

Mary stared back at him, silent and straight faced.

"Well," Moriarty went on, smiling at all of them, "it was a pleasure. Perhaps we'll meet again soon. In fact, I very much hope we do." He bowed, then turned and walked away.

The moment that he was a few feet away, Mary rushed past them and left the room leaving John to watch in concern.

"I don't like him," Sherlock whispered, still looking in the direction that Moriarty went.

"Neither do I. And I don't believe your cousin cared for him either," John sighed. "Why did he say that to her, do you think?"

Sherlock looked at John, knowing that things were doubtless to come into the light now. He simply said, "I think you should ask her, Watson."

John nodded, looked toward the doorway, and gave Sherlock a pat on the arm before he followed the way Mary had went a moment before.

Sherlock wasn't terribly concerned about the state of his friend's romance with his cousin. He was too preoccupied with who this strange man was, and why he was really here. He wanted to tell himself that there was nothing terribly incriminating about Moriarty, but sadly Sherlock knew that wasn't true. In the space of a minute, Moriarty had dropped enough hints to alert Sherlock to the fact that he was not a man to be trusted.

* * *

"Miss Morstan?" John said softly as he entered the quiet sitting room that she'd escaped to.

She turned briefly when seeing him come in, but then looked away again. She appeared to be wiping at her eyes as well.

John approached slowly and took a seat across from her. "Miss Morstan, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, barely looking up.

"You're not fine...Was that true? What Mr. Moriarty said in there...were you married?" John asked gently.

Mary looked up at him slowly and still didn't say anything, but her eyes told a story.

John swallowed hard before asking the next question. "Are you married still?"

Finally Mary opened her mouth after sighing and shutting her eyes for a moment. "No, I am not married now. But yes...I was married before. My husband died, about nine months ago," she answered quietly.

"Why did you not tell me?" John asked shaking his head and smiling. "Did you believe that would change anything? Why should that change anything? I can understand more now. If you're still mourning his loss-"

"I have never, and will never, earnestly mourn his loss," she cut in quickly.

John stopped and pursed his lips. "I see. But I want you to understand that this changes nothing for me. It changes nothing about my feelings for you."

Mary got up quickly from her seat and walked over to stand facing the nearest window as John went on.

"I do not care if you were married before. Perhaps that would bother some men, but I am not one of them. It doesn't change who you are, and it doesn't change how I feel about you," he repeated.

"Dr. Watson I- I cannot explain everything. Please understand that it was a time in my life that I would wish away if I could. That man, Mr. Moriarty, was right. Memories can indeed be a burden. And it's a burden I'd never needlessly place on another person," she said sadly.

"Miss Morstan," John said, standing up and advancing toward her. "We cannot all carry our burdens on our own. And I wish you would allow me to help. I would consider it a privilege to lighten any load that is weighing you down."

Mary's lip began to quiver as she turned to face him standing behind her. She could see he was serious. But she also knew that this was more than the simple fact of her having been married before. It was a much uglier history, and she reminded herself that he didn't know what he was offering to take on.

But despite that, she couldn't help reaching out and placing her hand on the side of his face. John's eyes clamped shut for a moment as he basked in the warmth of her touch.

"Forgive me, Dr. Watson. You're so very kind, but," she said with a tremor in her voice, "I just- I can't. Please understand that it's better if we don't..."

John reached up and wrapped his fingers around her hand, bringing it away from his face and placing it firmly against his chest. Mary's breath caught in her throat as she felt the speed and the force of the pounding beats beneath her palm.

"I hope you understand that this is yours," he whispered. "It's yours, Miss Morstan...and that's all that matters to me. Please tell me that it matters to you."

A tear escaped and rolled down Mary's cheek. She sniffled, looking at him with a pained expression. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry."

Mary shook her head and pulled her hand away from John's chest, then hurried off, leaving John alone in the silent and darkened room. The only sound he was left with was the pounding of his gradually slowing heartbeat echoing in his ears.

* * *

"Ah, where have you been?" Sherlock asked his cousin, as she took a place standing beside him while sipping some wine. "Did Watson find you? I believe he went looking for you."

She looked at him with darkened and red rimmed eyes and nodded.

Sherlock nodded. "I see. Well, I'm certainly not one to give counsel on such a subject, but perhaps you are not making the correct choice."

"But, how do you know that I was the one making a choice? How do you know he didn't just tell me he wants nothing more to do with me?"

Sherlock smiled knowingly at Mary. "Why do you think I am telling you to consider things more closely? I know Watson, and I know he didn't just reject you based on your past. Perhaps that alone should tell you something."

Mary stayed silent. She didn't want to acknowledge Sherlock's words at the moment. But there was something else she felt needed to be said.

"Sherlock, that man, Mr. Moriarty, I don't think he's a good man," she said in a serious whisper.

"Nor do I, Mary. We are certainly in agreement there."

"If he knew my husband, I question...the company he may keep. If he knows the same people, then I wouldn't imagine he is of much better character."

"My thoughts precisely. And despite the fact that I am somewhat of an oddity among the wealthy, I can't imagine that literally everyone speaks of me. I wonder that he knew exactly who I was, and made it a point to be introduced to us. I've certainly never heard of him till now. And perhaps that has been by design." Sherlock looked at Mary though, and gave her a confident smile. "No need to worry. I'll keep an eye on him."

Mary looked away from him and smiled a little. "I'd say that's wise, Sherlock, especially since he seems to be keeping an awfully close eye on Miss Hooper right now."

Sherlock's head whirled to where Mary was looking. It was true. Moriarty was watching Molly disturbingly closely as he sipped his drink. Sherlock saw him glance at the musicians who were currently preparing their music as he set his drink on a table, and he began walking. _Absolutely not,_ Sherlock thought.

"Excuse me, Mary, must take care of something," he spat out and rushed off.

Sherlock moved quickly past people in an effort to reach his destination before Moriarty did. He was grateful for the fact that he had longer legs. But even still, he was only seconds faster than Moriarty, and literally had to step in front of Molly just before the man had reached her.

"Miss Hooper, good evening...again," he said quickly with a peripheral look over his shoulder.

"Good evening," she answered softly, with a look that told him she wasn't completely over the conversation they'd shared earlier.

"Might I request the pleasure of the next dance?"

Molly looked a little taken aback as she struggled to form an answer. "Well, yes, thank you. One more dance, I suppose. I need to be getting home after this."

"Well then, it seems I was just in time," he smiled, his words meaning more than she knew.

As he stepped aside to stand near Molly, he caught a glimpse of Moriarty walking back to where he'd been standing previously. Sherlock smiled to himself, knowing that he'd successfully thwarted another possible dance between the pair.

It was only a moment later that the music started and Sherlock took Molly's hand. They took their places among the other dancers, and Sherlock noticed Mary smirking at him from where she stood.

The music began and everybody started moving smoothly across the floor. Sherlock soon felt compelled to fill the silence.

"You father was unwell tonight?"

"He wasn't well enough to come, yes. He insisted I attend anyway though. That is why I don't want to stay too long. I don't like to leave him for longer than necessary if he's not especially well."

As Sherlock turned, he caught another glimpse of Moriarty's cold features watching them. He didn't respond to what Molly said, but instead, completely changed topics.

"That man you were dancing with earlier, Mr. Moriarty?"

"Yes," she said, sighing inwardly. Why did he have to speak of this now, as she was trying to simply enjoy dancing with him? "What about him?"

Sherlock spoke his next words as he grasped her hand and they moved in close to each other, "You'll want to avoid any future attention from him," he whispered firmly, their faces only inches apart.

"W-what?" she squeaked back.

Just then the music signaled the change and they had to step back again.

"You heard me," he said simply.

"But, why?" she said more clearly.

Sherlock took her hand again as they walked in a quick circle around each other. He turned his head to face her. "He is not a man to be trusted. I would bet my life on it. And it's rather unlikely that he's seriously interested in you."

Molly's eyes snapped up to his. "Why do you say that it is unlikely?" she asked with barely contained hurt in her voice before they separated again and walked around some other dancers.

"I have deduced him to be the sort of man who thoughtlessly takes what he wants, when he wants it, and only cares for himself. This also means he is hardly the sort of caring and trustworthy man you would be looking for in a husband." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

Molly's cheeks burned. "Forgive me, Mr. Holmes, but what do you know on the subject? It's hardly your business to lecture me on what sort of man I seek as a husband!"

"Don't suddenly become a proper lady, infuriated at my _insolent_ conversation, Miss Hooper," he chuckled. "I am simply saving you time. I believe that is considered a kindness."

"Do you think me simple minded?" she demanded.

Sherlock paused, frowning. "N-no."

"Then perhaps, seeing as we are ignoring propriety at present, I should remind you that I am a grown woman, who is already very acutely aware of what I want in a husband and a man." As Molly spoke these heated words, she and Sherlock stepped forward once again, and she could swear for all the world that he held her hand tighter this time.

They stood face to face, eyes locked, as they waited for other dancers around them to become still so they could move again.

"Are you?" he questioned in a low whisper, watching as her eyes grew darker while her pupils dilated largely. He momentarily forgot about everyone else around them...

"I am," she whispered back between heavy breaths. She was unable to prevent the split second where her gaze darted to his lips, before returning to his eyes again. "Acutely aware," she repeated. "I am not blind."

They continued to stare at each other after Molly said this, before finally stepping back with the change in music. Sherlock felt at a loss in that moment. He couldn't define exactly why, but somehow he didn't know what else to say after that last bit of interchange. What had they been talking about? _Ah yes! Mr. Moriarty..._

"I am...glad to hear it," he said, after clearing his throat.

"You are?" she asked, hopefully, as they circled again around more dancers.

"Of course. I was simply voicing concern. Perhaps the same sort of concern your father would voice, were he here and had met the man in question." He fixed a business like expression on his face as the dance finally came to a stop and he looked up after they bowed across from each other. "But now I can see that you know your own mind, and are unlikely to be taken in by anyone less than worthy."

_The same sort of concern my father would voice?_ she thought in her head, and felt her heart sink in her chest. That was hardly the type of concern she had hoped he was feeling. But she was unhappily reminded that she'd be a fool to hope for anything else.

Sherlock crossed the distance and took her hand, walking back to the side of the room. He released her hand and she turned to face him again.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes; for the dance, and the um, concern, I suppose," she said with a tight smile. "I should be going now. Perhaps you would do me the favor of telling your cousin, Miss Morstan, that I'll be returning her dress very soon, and that I thank her again for letting me borrow it."

"I will pass on the message," he agreed with a single nod.

"Well, goodnight then, Mr. Holmes," she said, but was slow to move away.

"Goodnight, Miss Hooper," he answered as she turned away and began to leave. He felt like he was forgetting something though. He opened his mouth again, speaking hesitantly, and making her turn again. "I, um, oh yes, Miss Hooper, tell your father he was missed this evening."

"Thank you, I will."

Sherlock watched her walk away and still couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he'd forgotten to say something. She disappeared around the corner after one quick look behind her, and it was only after she was gone that he realized, with chagrin, what had been hanging unsaid on the tip of his tongue. Watson would never let him hear the end of it if he knew...

He wished he had told her how beautiful she looked.

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	8. Chapter 8

Molly stood patiently at the butcher shop as she waited for her purchases to be wrapped up. She looked at her hands and groaned quietly. They were dirty and dry from working in her garden earlier in the day. She didn't mind helping the cook and the housekeeper sometimes, since they kept a very small staff. But it was a bit discouraging at times when she wanted to look her best. And there had been more of those sorts of times recently. She was grateful that her association with the Holmes family had granted her inclusion in some of the higher society of the area recently, but it also regularly reminded her of how very different she was from some of those fine ladies.

It wasn't as if Molly Hooper wanted to be like all of them. She didn't want to be just another Janine Hawkins who looked beautiful all the time, but could do nothing to care for herself if need be. But sometimes, _sometimes,_ she really wanted to feel beautiful. And she really wanted to be noticed...especially by the one man in particular who seemed bent on refusing to notice her.

She rubbed her hands together a little and wiped them again on her apron, with little success. That was when she happened to look up, and see the last person she'd ever expect to see coming out of the back of the butcher shop...

"Mr. Holmes! H-hello," she said nervously. "What a surprise seeing you here."

"Is it?" he said looking confused, as if wealthy gentlemen frequent butcher shops every day. "Should I not be here?"

"No, I simply meant...never mind," she smiled. She glanced at the parcel in his arms. "So are you um, on an errand for the house?"

"No indeed. My own errand," he smiled, patting the paper wrapped bundle under his arm. "I have secured a bit of an arrangement with the butcher. He's been kind enough to supply me with a few items to use for experiments, in exchange for a favor, of course. I was able to tell him which of his employees has been stealing from him." Sherlock smiled again, looking pleased with himself.

"I see. Well I'm sure he was grateful." Molly tried no to laugh aloud in amusement at the whole scenario.

"Of course. At least as grateful as I am to have an activity for today."

Just then, the butcher stepped over to them. "Here you are, Miss Hooper."

"Thank you so much." Molly handed the man some coins after she'd placed the wrapped meat in her basket.

He tipped his hat to Sherlock and Molly. "Good day, Miss Hooper, and good day, Mr. Holmes. And thank you again!" He winked at Sherlock.

"Any time, Mr. Angelo," Sherlock nodded, and he and Molly exited the shop.

They stepped out into the sunshine and Molly was pleasantly surprised when, without a word one way or the other, he continued walking alongside her.

"I was going to be stopping by Seaborne later this afternoon. It's been a few days since the Hawkins' ball, and I still haven't returned Miss Morstan's gown. She's going to think I'm terribly ungrateful." Molly shook her head at herself.

"It would take more than that for Mary to think badly of you, or of anyone. She's more sensible than that."

"That's good of her."

"She knows what real troubles are, and I don't believe she counts a borrowed gown as one of them," he said flatly.

"Oh," Molly said, thinking about his words. Soon after, she added, "Is she well?"

"Oh yes," Sherlock smiled quickly. "She's well now. But she is certainly no stranger to difficult times."

Molly didn't want to pry anymore, so she planned to change the subject. Before she had any time to invent something herself though, a distraction was given to her in the form of a vendor on the market street.

"Oh my goodness!" Molly exclaimed, immediately halting in her tracks and setting down her basket of goods. "Aren't they the most adorable creatures?"

Molly had crouched down next to a small pen with about a half dozen little Irish setter puppies all jumping around inside. Sherlock stood by, seemingly unmoved as Molly made all sorts of cooing noises and the puppies crowded around her hands, each desperately trying to get as much attention as possible.

"Lovely aren't they?" the man asked as he saw Molly by the pen.

"They are wonderful! You're selling them, I take it?" she asked.

"I am, and at a fair price too! Are you interested?" the man asked.

"Oh no, not for me. I love them, but I can't take on anything else right now." Just then Molly noticed that one of the puppies had moved a couple feet over in the pen and was standing up on its hind legs yapping upward in Sherlock's direction. "Mr. Holmes, I believe he's quite taken with you," she laughed.

Sherlock was standing statuesque with his hands clasped behind him, trying to avoid the appearance of caring about the tiny animal who did clearly seem interested in him. He cleared his throat and said, "I can't imagine why."

"You can take him out if you like, sir," the seller offered.

"That's quite alright," Sherlock said quickly.

"Oh, you really should! Look at him, he's crying now!" Molly said with a little pout in the puppy's direction as she watched the animal whimpering.

Sherlock really didn't consider himself the sort of man to enjoy the company of a pet...but he took another look at the puppy who was whining up at him, and he figured it couldn't hurt just to hold him for a moment, if only to calm him down.

He placed his bundle into Molly's basket, then bent down and lifted the puppy up from the pen and held him against his chest. The animal's shiny brick colored fur felt so soft, and he was instantly licking Sherlock's hand in gratitude. The puppy seemed to calm though as Sherlock held him.

"Mr. Holmes, he loves you! Have you ever had a dog before?" Molly asked as she gave the puppy a pat, earning herself some licks on the hand.

"No, never. I've never exactly had much interest in owning animals." Sherlock looked down at the puppy and it licked him on the chin. Molly noticed the way it made Sherlock smile for a second, then he quickly set his mouth straight again.

"Well, perhaps I'd better set him down again," Sherlock said and bent to put the puppy back with the rest of its litter. The puppy immediately began hopping up again and whining. Sherlock looked at the seller frowning. "What is the matter with him?"

"Nothing is the matter with him." The seller laughed. "He just likes you, sir!"

"Mr. Holmes, you should get him!" Molly urged.

"Oh, no no. I couldn't do that," he said, but the words were obviously halfhearted and he spoke them while continuing to look down at the whimpering creature.

"I'm quite sure the rest of the household would enjoy him as well. Wouldn't Dr. Watson and Miss Morstan love him?" Molly was clearly becoming excited by the idea. She lifted the puppy up to calm him down, and he relaxed a little in her arms.

"Well, I- I wouldn't know what to do with him," Sherlock protested.

"You'll have to learn I suppose." Molly gave the puppy's head a kiss and then smiled at Sherlock. "He'll keep you from getting bored won't he?"

Sherlock wavered for another minute as Molly snuggled with the animal.

"They're quality animals; full blood Irish Setters," the seller added, seeing that Sherlock was likely to cave. "He'd make a loyal companion and an obedient pet, if he's properly trained. What do you say, sir?"

"Well, I..." Sherlock took one more look at the puppy in Molly's arms. "Alright, I suppose so!"

Molly did a little clap of her hands while still holding onto the puppy, as Sherlock began to go about paying the man.

* * *

Five minutes later, Sherlock was walking along with Molly while holding a puppy in his arms. He voiced the thoughts in his head aloud.

"How did this happen? I ventured into the market today to get internal organs of animals, and somehow I've also come home with a puppy! One doesn't seem to go with the other!"

"I think it's lovely," Molly smiled. "And you can think of him as an experiment of sorts. I mean, you'll want to avoid doing anything damaging of course. But training him and caring for him is in itself a sort of experiment. I'm sure you'll enjoy it!"

"Perhaps." He looked down at the puppy and earned another lick on his chin. "I'll set him down a bit. See how well he follows when called."

"You'll have to name him. He has to learn to come when called. If you don't name him, how well can he learn that?" Molly laughed.

Sherlock set the little fellow down and he seemed quite content to follow at Sherlock's heels.

"I've never had to _name_ anything before. How exactly do I pick a name?"

Molly shrugged. "Well, it could be anything really. Most of the time, you come up with a name that means something. Think of places, thing, and activities that you love. And perhaps you could think of something that fits him. Maybe something about the way he looks or acts."

Sherlock watched the dog as he trotted clumsily along beside him, desperately trying to keep up. His dark reddish fur shone a little in the sunlight... _Red._

"Redbeard," he whispered.

"What?" Molly asked.

Sherlock cleared his throat, looking straight ahead of him and not at Molly. "I said...Redbeard. That's what I'll call him."

"Oh how perfect!" Molly grinned. "After the pirate, right?"

"Yes. I um, I used to enjoy pirates as a child. Did a lot of reading on the subject, much to my family's dismay of course."

Molly giggled. "It fits so well then. It's a name that means something to you, and it's perfect for the little fellow as well. What a perfect name for you, right, Redbeard?" she cooed down to him. The puppy bumbled along and with his ears flapping against his little head, making Molly laugh at the sight.

Soon the path split, and it was time to part ways. Sherlock knew he probably shouldn't have kept her walking with him for that long, but somehow it seemed wrong to push her off when they were both going the same way. Especially with the new puppy being of interest to her. He wasn't sorry to have her walk with him either. He didn't bother telling himself by now that he didn't enjoy her company.

"You will be at Seaborne later today then?" he asked as they stopped walking where the road split.

"I will, yes."

Redbeard continued to trot along ahead of them, giving Sherlock the chance to call him by name for the first time. The puppy immediately turned at the sound of Sherlock's voice and came running back to jump excitedly at his ankles. Molly laughed at the dog's immediate attachment to Sherlock.

"I suppose that next I will have to work on teaching him not to jump up," Sherlock smirked.

"All in good time," Molly smiled. She crouched down, and that made Redbeard turn his attention to her for a moment. "You be a good boy, Redbeard! Be a good dog and listen to your master. Perhaps I'll see you later." She ruffled the dog's ears and he licked her hand.

Molly stood up and looked at Sherlock again. "Congratulations on your new friend, Mr. Holmes. I think you made a splendid choice. You two will get on wonderfully."

"I hope so. He seems a bit overexcited and jovial...Not exactly like me." His eyes widened as he spoke.

"Oh, but those are the very best sort of relationships to have! The qualities of the one person make up for the lack of them in the other, and vice versa. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sherlock nodded as he looked down at her. "I suppose so," he answered softly.

"Well, good day, Mr. Holmes." Molly smiled, and then she turned to start down the path.

"Good day, Miss Hooper," he added, and he looked down at the puppy who had reclined at his feet and begun gnawing at the toe of his shoe.

"Come along, Redbeard," he said firmly as he began walking again. "Let's go home."

The puppy jumped up, following him in an instant.

* * *

Anthea dismounted her horse and tied the reins to a branch of the large tree she'd stopped under. She took a deep breath of the fresh air and leaned against the tree's huge trunk. It had become unbearably stuffy in the house that afternoon, and it wasn't so much to do with the temperature either. She was having such a difficult time since coming here, coping with Mycroft's behavior towards her. He wasn't constantly working, so that meant the state of their marriage had become much more difficult to ignore. There was less to distract from the problems they had.

Lately, it wasn't just his indifference that bothered her. It was as if he was...holding back. Sometimes, on a few recent occasions, she'd seen the way he was looking at her. There was just a ghost of longing in his gaze. But he would quickly look away if she noticed. The Holmes boys truly did not know what to do with their emotions.

She stayed there for quite a while, enjoying the peace and time to think. After a while though, she saw Mycroft riding over to the tree as well.

"Mother sent me out to look for you," he said with a tone of irritation. "We will be having tea shortly."

Anthea smiled up at him. "Come down from the horse, darling. I want to show you something."

"I wasn't sent to _stay_ out here with you, Anthea," he sighed.

"Just come down here...please," she asked gently.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment, but finally dismounted and walked over to her.

Anthea sighed contentedly. "Isn't it lovely, right here, under the tree? It's shady, but you can still feel the warm breeze. You can look out at the hills, or you can look up and watch the branches moving in the wind...I feel like I can breathe out here." She closed her eyes as she drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Mycroft couldn't help but watch his wife as she drew her breath that was apparently easier out here than inside the home. A few glossy dark waves of hair blew in the wind and her face and chest were a little rosy from the riding. He swallowed hard and looked away. Sometimes he wondered how he'd dared to ask such a woman to spend the rest of her life with him. What sort of fool had he been?

He didn't notice that Anthea's eyes had opened and she was now looking at him. She turned her body so she was leaning her side on the tree and facing her husband.

"Mycroft," she said softly, which made him look over at her, almost seeming frightened.

Anthea took another step closer. "Kiss me."

Mycroft's face began to contort in a frown. "What? Here?" he asked incredulously.

"Why not?" she asked, moving to stand in front of him. "We're alone. Don't you want to kiss me? Isn't it at all tempting? Here we are on this beautiful day, with not another soul in sight, and you can do whatever you like. Why not give your wife a kiss?"

"We are supposed to be heading back in for tea and-"

"What are you afraid of, Mycroft?!" she demanded.

"I am not afraid of kissing you! I have kissed you before!"

"But only on your terms it seems," Anthea asked, still looking at him, almost challengingly.

Mycroft stared back at her, opened his mouth for a moment to make more argument, then closed it again. "Fine...one kiss," he said, almost begrudgingly.

Anthea stood her ground, waiting for Mycroft to make a move. She refused, on principal to do this for him. As he took a step forward and looked at her, Anthea realized that she wasn't used to seeing this. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen her husband kiss her in the light of day. Mycroft leaned down and finally pressed a light kiss to her lips.

At the contact of his lips though, Anthea felt the need to take action, lest he retreat too quickly. She brought her hands up, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, and she returned the kiss with more vigor than he had put into it. It didn't actually take much coaxing to get his lips to part, and she was surprised when he tilted his head a bit and began to deepen the kiss...

But almost as quickly as the kiss began to improve, Mycroft brought it to a halt. He gently grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away from his neck, while pulling his lips away from hers. He stepped back and drew some rather labored breathes as he looked away from his wife.

"Mycroft?" she began, trying to step closer to him again.

"We need to get back, we've wasted enough time," he said quickly, and mounted his horse. "Come on, they'll be waiting for us."

Anthea's face fell as she looked up at him. "Forgive me for having wasted your time, husband. I won't keep you." She climbed up un her own horse, and started it walking in the other direction. Mycroft turned and called out to her.

"Aren't you coming?"

Anthea called back over her shoulder. "No, I'm not! I'm going to ride some more. You'll have to make my excuses for me. If you are going to insist on pushing me away, Mycroft, do not be surprised at the logical results!"

She rode off, leaving Mycroft to watch her helplessly. And as he slowly turned his horse again to head back to the house, it was difficult to ignore the uncomfortable ache that was developing in his chest.

* * *

"I can't tell you how much it meant to me," Molly said honestly, as she sat across from Mary in the beautiful drawing room. "It really was thrilling to be able to wear it."

"It was no trouble, of course! It suited you perfectly. You may ask again any time you wish. In fact, I very much hope you do. I hope you'll get invited to every event this summer! You're a welcome presence, to be honest. One can easily tire of the vast amount of self-importance after a while!"

Molly laughed and blushed. "I'm glad that my company is tolerable. Sometimes I'm not sure quite what I'm doing here."

"You're among friends." Mary smiled. "That is what you are doing here."

Molly smiled back gratefully. "Well, I mustn't stay much longer. Perhaps I'll make it back home in time for dinner if I leave soon...But I did need to see Mr. Holmes briefly before I go."

"Ah yes, Sherlock should be easy to locate. We'll just listen for the pitter patter of little paws and I'm sure we'll find him quick enough," Mary giggled.

"Is everyone enjoying the new member of the household then?"

Mary tipped her head in thought. "Well, I'd admit that some are less pleased than others. I'd venture to say you can guess who they are! But it seems little Redbeard is rather skilled at winning people over, so I'm sure he'll be in the entire household's good graces before long...And in addition to Redbeard's skills of winning over hearts, I heard you had a bit to do with the decision." She smiled slyly.

Molly blushed again. "Oh, um, really?"

"Absolutely. In fact, when I asked Sherlock why he decided to get the puppy, the first thing out of his mouth was, 'Miss Hooper thought I should get him.'"

"Blaming it on me then?" Molly laughed.

"I'd take that as a compliment, Miss Hooper. Sherlock Holmes is not a man easily moved." She lifted one eyebrow as she spoke the words.

"Yes," Molly said after letting out a long breath. "I know he isn't."

Mary gave her one more smile. "Well, I'll just have someone go and fetch him for you."

Just then, Mrs. Hudson walked by the drawing room door.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson!" Mary called out, getting the woman's attention. "Do you know where Sherlock is at the moment?"

"Oh yes, he is in his lab. I've just come from there. He's doing something disgusting again!" the older woman wrinkled up her nose.

"Would you perhaps be able to get him for us? I hate to be a bother, Mrs. Hudson, but Miss Hooper needs to see him before she leaves."

"Oh no, that's alright," Molly cut in. "You've only just come back upstairs. I'd hate to send you all the way back down again just for me! If he's in his lab, I can go find him myself. I do know where it is."

Mary and Mrs. Hudson exchanged a quick glance, and then looked back at Molly.

"If you're sure that's alright with you, Miss Hooper," Mary smiled.

"Of course, it's no problem at all." Molly got up as she spoke. "I won't take much of his time; I just need to give him something."

Molly said her goodbyes and left the room. Mary and Mrs. Hudson looked back at each other as they heard her steps become faint in the distance.

"I hope she does give him something!" Mrs. Hudson whispered.

Mary covered her mouth as a laugh came snorting out. "Mrs. Hudson!" she chided playfully.

"Forgive me, but I do! That man needs...something!" She shook her head, unable to come up with anything more eloquent. "Perhaps she's just the woman to slap some sense into him!" Mrs. Hudson winked at Mary and left the room humming.

"Perhaps she is," Mary whispered to herself.

* * *

Sherlock peered into the microscope and mumbled something to himself before leaning over to make some notes. Just then, he felt Redbeard stir from where he was curled up next to his feet. The puppy jumped up and took a few steps in the direction of the door right before Sherlock heard the light knocking.

"Come in," he called.

The door swung open slowly and Molly poked her head around the corner. "Hello!" She quickly crouched down to the ground though, as Redbeard bounded happily over to greet her. "Oh my, look at you! All settled in, aren't you?"

Molly stood back up and walked over to Sherlock with Redbeard in tow.

"Here on your errand I suppose?" Sherlock asked as Redbeard excitedly bounced around between the two sets of feet.

"I was, yes. I feel much better now that I've returned the dress. I was becoming afraid something would happen to it if I held onto it too long!"

"What exactly could happen to it?"

"Oh who knows? A million different things I'm sure. I'm not exactly fit for a dress like that," she said with a shrug. "I felt a bit like I was a child playing with costumes."

Sherlock shifted slightly and looked back into the microscope, as an aid to making his next words come out with more easily. "It didn't appear that way."

"Didn't it?" she asked hesitantly.

"No. The gown...suited you. You looked...you looked lovely," he uttered quietly, still without raising his head.

Molly could have forgotten to breath, but finally gulped in some air before answering him softly. "Oh, well that's, um...thank you so much."

"No problem," he said quickly, and finally stood to face her again, not needing the buffer of the microscope so much anymore.

She mentally shook herself back to reality and spoke again. "Well, I don't want to forget why I came down here. I didn't want to leave without seeing you." Molly halted and frowned at herself, blushing at her wording, as Sherlock smirked a little.

"I- I just meant, I had something to give you. I brought something for you." Molly reached into the pocket of her dress and produced a rolled up sheet of paper which she then handed to Sherlock. "It's the sketch of the bee's wing. I made it a bit tidier, so I wanted to give you the final product."

Sherlock rolled the paper open and held it down on the table to examine it. She had vastly improved on it. The lines were so clean, and the shading was magnificent. It looked so real. It's beauty wasn't only in its accuracy though. It was beautiful simply as a piece of art. Sherlock was quite for a while as he stared at it.

Molly wrung her hands nervously. "So, um, that's yours. You can do whatever you like with it. It's not anything special really, but I just wanted to give it back, since I said I would. So you have it now, and I'll well-"

Sherlock cut off her rambling. "I'll frame it."

Her jaw went slack. "What?"

"Yes, I'll frame it," he said matter-of-factly. "There's a wall over here with little on it anyway. I believe I'll start a bit of a collection. This will make a fine start to the wall of microscopic discoveries!" He added a grin.

"Really?" she asked, blushing. "You like it that much?"

"Yes of course," he answered quickly.

"Well I'm...so glad. And be sure to tell me, any time you like, if you'd like me to sketch anything else for you. I'd be more than happy to help."

"Excellent," he said with a half-smile. Sherlock happened to glance down and saw that Redbeard was gently gnawing at the hem of Molly's dress. "Redbeard, no!"

He leaned down and scooped the puppy up, releasing its hold on Molly's skirt. "You'll rapidly wear out your welcome if you destroy garments on your first night at Seaborne! And how incredibly ungrateful to choose the dress worn by the woman who made sure you got a home today." As he spoke those last words, his eyes slowly moved away from Redbeard and connected to Molly's.

"It seems I am indeed taking the blame for this," she said softly while smiling. "I don't think it really took much work convincing you though."

"I wouldn't have even stopped. I never would have done anything other than walk past that bunch of puppies. So I'd say Redbeard should be rather thankful to you. He can't exactly speak though, so perhaps I'll have to do it for him." Sherlock pressed his lips together before opening them again and dropping his voice. "Thank you, Miss Hooper."

Molly looked up at him for a moment, just enjoying the feel of his eyes being so securely connected to her own. She slowly began to smile as she answered him with a small laugh. "Well then, you're welcome...Redbeard."

Molly stepped forward, and reached out to scratch behind the puppy's ears. She even leaned in and pressed a kiss to Redbeard's head. Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock looked momentarily awestruck as he had to process her proximity, and the fact that she smelled...really appealing. Some sort of natural combination of the outdoors, food, flowers, and spices. It was overwhelming, and yet he felt a loss when she backed away.

She gave Redbeard's head one more pat as she took a couple steps away. "Well, good evening, Mr. Holmes."

"Yes, good evening, Miss Hooper. And give your father my regards."

"Of course. Good evening, Redbeard," she said in a sweet voice, making the puppy tilt his head at the sound.

Molly Hooper left that evening, without knowing how sorry Sherlock was to see her go. She didn't know that he couldn't concentrate on his experiments for a whole hour. She didn't know that he eventually abandoned his project and sat on the floor with Redbeard who promptly curled up on his master's lap. And she didn't know that when Sherlock bent to press his nose to the puppy's soft little head, the detective closed his eyes...

Because he could swear he still smelled her.

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	9. Chapter 9

"When must we endure that?" Sherlock sighed.

"In a fortnight. You should not complain, Sherlock. The Hawkins are perfectly lovely people. In fact, I can't imagine why they continue to pursue a...connection," Lady Holmes said shaking her head as she took another bite of her dinner.

"And it's just a dinner party then?" John asked.

"Yes indeed. A _small_ dinner party. Only closer acquaintances would be included I should think. It's lovely that all of us got an invitation."

"Oh yes, how lovely," Sherlock mumbled sarcastically as he reached under the table to pass a small piece of chicken to Redbeard.

John didn't miss Sherlock's attempted covert move, and he stifled a laugh at his friend. The progression of the new friendship between man and dog in the past few days had been rather endearing to watch. It was fascinating to see Sherlock become so attached to the puppy. He became a master and protector overnight. John quickly concluded that this was incredibly good for the man who was clearly emotionally stunted.

"How was your ride today, Miss Morstan?" John asked out of the blue, causing Mary's eyes to shoot over to him.

"It was fine, Dr. Watson. Thank you for asking. Fine weather today for a ride." Mary gave him a cautious smile before looking back to her plate.

"I heard you mentioning to Anthea that there was something you needed in town. Perhaps you'd like to accompany me into town tomorrow. I was going to be there anyway," John asked, remaining persistent and positive despite her frequent rebuffs.

"Perhaps, Dr. Watson. Thank you for the offer," she nodded and continued eating again.

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he watched the interchange of the entire table. "Since we all seem to be so intent on _conversing_ during dinner, I will take this opportunity to tell you all that I shall need to be back in London be mid-August. They cannot spare me any longer."

"What? So soon?" Anthea asked, putting down her fork. "Why, that's only about another month. Can't we leave in the beginning of September? It's not that much longer."

"I am not insisting on pulling you away. If you recall, I told you that you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish...if that is what you want." There was a hint of resignation in Mycroft's voice as he spoke the words.

"What would _you_ like me to do, Mycroft?" Anthea asked, praying he would ask her to come back with him, even though she didn't want to leave early.

"I- I would like you to...decide for yourself." He gave her a tight smile. "Far be it from me to give you orders."

Anthea said nothing. She picked up her fork again briefly, but soon laid it down again. "Forgive me, I think I shall retire early. I am not feeling entirely well." She got up from the table and gave everyone a quick smile before exiting the room.

"Oh, the poor dear!" Lady Holmes said with a sympathetic pout. Then her expression seemed to perk up. "Dr. Watson, perhaps you should examine her after dinner...just to be sure."

Mycroft sighed at his mother's transparency.

"I will offer if you'd like, Lady Holmes," John said kindly, in effort to appease her.

Lady Holmes smiled happily and continued eating. Suddenly she jumped and let out a yelp. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Sherlock, your new pet should not be allowed under the table or in the dining room at all!"

Sherlock chuckled low at the other end of the table as he reached under the table, calling for Redbeard to come back to where he was sitting. "If you don't drop your food, he won't come near your feet, mother."

"Oh, I see, it's my fault!" She shook her head and took a sip of wine.

Another bit of silence followed, and only the faint sound of Redbeard under the table at Sherlock's feet could be heard. Finally Lady Holmes spoke again.

"Oh, Dr. Watson, I had been meaning to ask you, How is poor Dr. Hooper?"

John cleared his throat. "He is very sick, Lady Holmes. He doesn't have much longer it seems."

"Oh dear," she sighed, placing a hand to her chest. "The poor thing. He's such a good man, and has taken such excellent care of the family. I do wish there was something we could do."

Sherlock smiled faintly to himself, thinking that his mother had no idea how much they'd already done...

"Is he still able to get out at all?" she continued.

"A bit, yes. Some days are better than others. In fact, he accompanied me on some of his patient's visits the other day. I think that was a bit much for him to handle, but he wanted to do it. I felt cruel to deny him that. He could certainly take the final downward turn at any moment, but for now, he still enjoys a bit of normalcy."

"I see," Mrs. Holmes said, and she shook her head in sadness for a moment. Then she smiled, having come up with an idea. "If he's still able to get out a bit, perhaps we could invite him and Miss Hooper to tea this week. We could have a bit of tea and lunch outdoors. The weather has been awfully lovely."

"I think that would be a very nice idea," Mary smiled.

"I agree," John nodded.

"It's settled then," Lady Holmes smiled. "I shall have an invitation sent out tomorrow."

Sherlock smiled down at Redbeard as he fed him one final piece of chicken.

* * *

Two days later, the Hoopers came to tea at Seaborne. Lady Holmes arranged for a lovely spread out in the yard. It proved to be a perfect day for an outdoor tea, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Dr. Hooper was especially content, sitting in one of the wooden chairs and enjoying the sunshine.

"You were so kind to have us today, Lady Holmes. I feel the sunshine is doing wonders for me," Dr. Hooper said between labored breaths.

"It was nothing, of course! We were ever so sorry to miss you at the Hawkins' ball last week. Now we can make up for the loss."

"My Molly was able to go, that's all that mattered," he smiled over at his daughter who was sitting with Mary and chatting. He looked back at Lady Holmes. "Where is Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"Oh he went off to check his bees, silly man!" Lady Holmes laughed. "What sort of gentleman keeps bees, I will never know!"

Dr. Hooper smiled to himself. "A very different sort," he said quietly, and took a sip of tea.

A few minutes later, little Redbeard came bounding over to the party through the grass. He gave a couple of excited little yaps as he went directly over to Molly.

"Oh hello, you!" Molly cooed and lifted him onto her lap. She and Mary began petting and scratching him and he promptly rolled over to allow easier access to his belly. "And where is your master?"

"Lagging behind," answered the deep voice that approached. "I find he has boundless energy!"

Molly looked up and smiled at Sherlock. "Keeps you busy, doesn't he? You see, I knew it would work."

Redbeard began chewing on Molly's fingers, which really didn't hurt, but Sherlock promptly snapped his finger. "No," he firmly instructed, and the puppy immediately released Molly's hand and looked up at his master.

"My, he's really becoming well trained, isn't he?" Mary exclaimed.

"He's become quickly used to the sound of my voice it seems. He listens to me rather well." Sherlock extended a stick he was holding and Redbeard took it in his mouth and began roughly gnawing on that while holding it between his paws. "He's teething apparently. I have to keep a stick with me wherever I go or he's constantly chewing on something he shouldn't."

Molly began playfully tugging the stick. "Does he enjoy playing?" she asked, looking back up at Sherlock.

"He does. He's either running around like mad, or collapsing because he's dead tired!"

"He will certainly outgrow a bit of that. He's just acting like a puppy. Aren't you? Yes you are!" Molly gave him a snuggle.

She got up and placed Redbeard on the grass, where he began leaping around. Molly laughed at how silly he looked, clumsily jumping around in the grass that was almost taller than him. "I'll play with him for a bit and keep him busy."

"Only if you'd like to," Sherlock answered. "No obligation."

"I would like to," she smiled, and ran off along with Redbeard.

Sherlock watched as Molly ran back and forth in an open area a little distance from where the rest of the party sat. She tugged at the stick in Redbeard's mouth and then ran with it, making him chase her. She sat down in the grass and giggled as he jumped all over her. A slow smile began to spread on Sherlock's face.

"Darling?" Lady Holmes addressed her son, reminding him that he wasn't alone. "Perhaps you'd like some tea?"

"Thank you, Mother," he said, and took the cup from her. He then took a seat over by Dr. Hooper, whom he'd seen little of in the past week or two.

"And how are your bees, Mr. Holmes?" the man asked with a smile.

"Doing rather well. If all goes as planned, I'll have a lovely bunch of honey before I go back to London."

Dr. Hooper was quite for a moment. "And...will you be coming back here any time soon?"

"Hard to say. I much prefer the city and its constant activity and work." Sherlock's gaze traveled back over to the open field where Molly ran with Redbeard jumping at her heels till she stopped and flipped him over in the grass to rub his belly. Sherlock looked back at Dr. Hooper. "But, surely I'll return at some point."

Dr. Hooper smiled back at him. "I hope you do. And I must add that perhaps your return would not simply be due to your family's presence here. Or rather... I _hope_ it would not simply be that." He looked at Sherlock carefully.

Sherlock had a sudden wave of anxiety rise in his stomach as he looked back at Molly's father. Sherlock could see it in the man's eyes. He knew what was being implied, and it terrified him. And it didn't matter how he felt suddenly warmed when around Molly Hooper, or how she tended to pop into his thoughts at rather regular intervals recently, or the fact that he knew she was simply unlike any other woman he'd known before. It didn't matter, because ultimately Sherlock's emotions were like a timid animal. If you got too close, they would quickly bolt.

"I- I fear, Dr. Hooper, that you are hoping for something that will never be. I have a...sincere regard for your daughter. Certainly I would not have bothered to assist you if I did not. But what you are implying...I am not searching for that sort of life. I never have been, and I- I do not know if I can-"

Dr. Hooper placed a hand briefly on Sherlock's arm. "It's alright, there's no need to explain further, Mr. Holmes. I don't mean to be so forward and make you uncomfortable. And I wouldn't want you to think me ungrateful. You have indeed done much for me. I would not want you to think I am asking more from you than you can give...But you cannot blame me for hoping," he said with a half-smile.

Sherlock didn't say anything. He looked at the man though, and began to relax. Dr. Hooper seemed to understand him. Maybe better than many people. And he thought that perhaps this was where Molly got her especially agreeable personality.

"You have indeed eased my mind considerably," Dr. Hooper went on after recovering from a bit of coughing. "I do not lose so much sleep lately, worrying about Molly's security after my death. No, my concerns do not lie there anymore. But she is still me little girl, so naturally I have other hopes for her, beyond her basic needs...I want her to be happy. I hope that someone can make her happy."

Sherlock looked away for a moment and caught another glimpse of Molly tugging the stick in Redbeard's mouth. The first thing that came to his mind was, _she is happy._ But he knew that Dr. Hooper was referring to the happiness that a husband and family could bring, and he couldn't help but sigh inwardly, wondering why it always must come to that. Couldn't other people find complete contentment the way that he was sure he had? Perhaps he _wished_ that Molly could. Perhaps he wished it because it would...simplify things. But he answered Dr. Hooper in a controlled voice, without including those thoughts.

"Surely there is a man that could be the making of your daughter's happiness. I don't believe there is any reason for you to doubt it."

Dr. Hooper nodded solemnly for a moment. Then he spoke with pointed words. "But _you_ , Mr. Holmes, you do not believe you could do that...do you?"

Sherlock stared at the man, a little shocked. He had put into words, something that Sherlock wasn't even sure he consciously understood till that moment. But he realized that it was true. He did not believe that he could make, and keep, Molly Hooper happy. In fact, every piece of evidence in his mind made him believe the very opposite.

Sherlock drew a breath before slowly pushing out his response. He looked directly at Molly's father and spoke solemnly. "Dr. Hooper, I do not believe that I am built to be a husband...I am barely fit to be anybody's friend."

A slow smile spread across Dr. Hooper's face and he began to chuckle a bit, making Sherlock frown at him in question. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, shame on you. I believe that as a detective, you should perhaps practice your skills of observation a bit more." Dr. Hooper gave him a sly smile, then stood with some effort, saying he wanted to have a bit of a walk. He left Sherlock there to continue frowning a little in confusion.

Sherlock stayed lost in thought for a while, trying to sort through what Dr. Hooper had said and meant. _He doesn't really know me,_ Sherlock kept thinking. _He's never seen me when I'm working a case in London, or when I'm without a case and going absolutely mad! He's never seen me at my worst. He doesn't know what I'm capable of. And surely he'd never wish that on his daughter, if he really knew..._

Sherlock was brought back to reality by Redbeard leaping onto his lap and licking his face. He began scratching the puppy's head and back and he immediately snuggled closer to Sherlock's chest as his panting slowed.

"I believe I've tired him out," Molly said as she approached and took the seat her father had left unoccupied. She was breathing heavily as well, and she leaned her head back against the chair, closing her eyes for a moment. "Or perhaps he's tired me out!" she laughed.

Sherlock smiled at her, though she couldn't see, then he looked back at Redbeard who had lain down in his lap. "He'll wake in another hour, and be ready to run circles around me again," Sherlock chuckled.

"I'm sure you're right. And I think you'll be on your own this time!" Molly let out a sigh. She opened her eyes again and saw John approaching them.

"Have either of you seen where Miss Morstan is?" he asked.

"I saw her walking over toward the pond while I was playing with Redbeard. Perhaps you'll find her there," Molly smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Miss Hooper," John nodded, and he smiled at Sherlock as he walked away from them.

There was a bit of silence after John walked off, then Molly spoke again.

"Forgive me, but...are they-"

"Watson wishes they were," Sherlock answered quickly.

"Oh, I see. How sad...But, perhaps she'll come around," she added hopefully.

Sherlock shrugged. "My cousin does not believe it would be for the best, and she is stubborn."

"Do you think she, well, cares for him?" she asked.

Sherlock took a moment to answer. "There are other things that discourage her. So I'm not sure her feelings for him matter."

Molly smiled. "If they both really care for each other, then what else could possibly matter?"

Sherlock turned and watched John walk off to find Mary, and he couldn't help but wonder if the crazy words that Molly Hooper spoke held any bit of truth.

* * *

"Miss Morstan?" John announced his presence and Mary turned from where she stood looking at the water.

"Hello, Dr. Watson," she said with a sad smile. "I was just enjoying the quiet."

"Normally I would apologize for disrupting your solitude, but I am becoming a bit sadly desperate. It seems I'm being very carefully avoided once again." He smiled, lightening the statement a bit.

Mary shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't see the point in speaking any further on this subject. You see, there's really nothing left to say."

John swept to her side like lightening and gently grasped her hand as he spoke firmly. "Forgive me, Miss Morstan, but there is a _lifetime_ of things to say, but I fear that I am not being allowed to say them."

Mary's eyes were lit and engulfed by the spark that leapt from John's, and for a moment, they could only stare at one another as he kept a firm grip on her hand. Finally, John went on.

"The least you can do is speak freely to me. You are asking me to walk away from you, but I don't even understand why. Please, please, do me the courtesy of telling me the whole truth. What do you have to lose? You already believe that we shouldn't be together. If that is true, what are you afraid of? Just tell me everything, and be done with it!"

Mary drew a deep breath as she slowly turned away from him to look back at the water. John released her hand, not wanting to push her, and he waited for a response. Finally she opened her mouth.

"You're right. Perhaps this will be a kindness to you. I will be honest. I will tell you everything. And then perhaps you will be free of the belief that you could somehow be happy with me," she said, turning back to him as she spoke the last words. She was already becoming emotional, and had to take a few steps away before going on.

"I'll start at the beginning I suppose. I met my late husband almost two years ago. I was at a party, and he was introduced to me. His name was Robert Adams. He was very forward, and he made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed my company. In fact, he convinced me to meet him later that very night, which I did. I met him once more among friends later that same week, and that's when he took me aside and said he wanted me to run away with him."

John listened silently, not wanting to scare her off, or discourage her from being completely honest.

"He said he was in love with me." Mary shook her head. "I've never believed myself to be a stupid gullible woman, but apparently all of us have our moments. I was completely drawn in. He was handsome and gallant, and I thought I was incredibly fortunate. So, he explained that we needed to be married quickly, because he had a lot of business to care for. I listened to him, and I trusted him. So I left with him, that very night. We were married, and it was done, just like that... And it was almost immediately afterward that he began to show his true self. He began asking me to inform my family of the marriage so that my dowry could be paid. I was terrified! I wanted to enjoy the fact that I'd just married a man I thought was in love with me, but I was not looking forward to informing my family. But he forced me to tell them." Mary paused and pressed a hand to her brow.

"It's alright, Miss Morstan. Go on," John said gently.

"That was how it began. And once he'd gotten the dowry, he alienated me from my family. Though partly, I was the one that did that. They were horrified at the fact that I'd eloped. I'm sure I would have been found out sooner, had Sherlock not been on a case in another city at the time. As it was, he didn't find out till the whole thing was completely done. He was immediately suspicious. And so was I, but I was still hoping that Robert was better than he seemed. I wanted to believe that we were still going to be happy! So I tried to push my family off, and convince them that everything was fine. But soon, very soon, I began to realize that Robert was not the man I thought he was, in many ways. It became clear to me that he was involved in some less than legitimate business pursuits."

John frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There were meetings at odd hours, and suspicious men coming by our flat looking for him, and strange deliveries that he had to take to other places. He was always on edge, and almost angry. When I started to understand that he was involved in some strange things, and I questioned it...that's when the violence started."

John's eyes widened in horror.

"After that, it just continued. It didn't get better, it got worse. My life became a nightmare, and I hated every minute of it. I hated him, I hated whatever he was constantly doing behind my back, and I hated myself probably most of all. I didn't know what to do. I thought about running away to my family. I was almost ruined anyway, and I wondered if it would really be much worse to escape from my horrible marriage and at least be able to live in peace with my family. But I was afraid that if I did, I'd be putting them in danger. So I just stayed, and I did nothing but dream that it would be over somehow...I just never dreamed how it would finally end."

Mary walked over to a rock nearby and took a seat. She took a deep breath and went on. "One night, he came home and told me that we had to leave in the morning. I asked him where, and he wouldn't tell me. He seemed afraid, and he just wouldn't listen to anything I had to say. I couldn't make any sense of it, so finally I went to bed. I woke up a little while later, because I heard something. Just as I was about to get out of bed, I heard him scream," she said with a visible shudder. "I heard voices a moment later, but then I heard our door shut. There was silence, so I got up and came down the stairs to see if Robert was still there. When I went into our sitting room, there he was on the floor...There was...blood everywhere."

John reached out and squeezed her hand.

"There was a knife on the floor next to him, and it was from our kitchen. I didn't know what to do, so I just ran outside and began knocking on doors, trying to get help. Help came finally, but it was far too late. He was dead by the time I'd come downstairs. I remember being in complete shock. I just sat there as police officers spoke to me, but I can't even remember what I said, if I said anything. I'm sure you can guess who was quick to arrive on the scene," she added with a half-smile.

"Holmes," John murmured.

Mary nodded. "He put me up at Baker Street for a couple of days. And I began to feel like I'd gotten a second change, no matter how horrible it had been. I started to feel like myself again. But then things got a bit more difficult. I suppose the police investigators spoke to neighbors, and they were told that our marriage was a less than happy one. Unfortunately, they also reported that they hadn't seen anyone coming or going from our flat that night."

"My God," John sighed and shook his head.

"Naturally, they suspected me. There was no evidence of anyone having broken in, he was killed with our knife, and I was treated dreadfully in our marriage. When they questioned me, I explained that I thought him to be involved in some sort of improper business. I told them that he seemed so uneasy and wanted to move so quickly that I thought it possible he'd done something to anger the person or people he worked for. But then I was told that they'd found nothing to suggest he was involved in anything illegal."

"What did Holmes believe?" John asked, knowing that his was a most important piece of the puzzle.

"He believed me," Mary said with a small smile. "I had him on my side, and that made all the difference. He made sure I wasn't treated unfairly. Even though there wasn't any evidence to suggest someone came into our home and killed my husband, Sherlock didn't let them forget that there also wasn't any direct evidence _against me._ That was what saved me. But you can imagine that it didn't save me from the damaged reputation."

"That's why you came here, to Seaborne."

"Yes, and it was helpful that my aunt and cousins accepted me and took me in. The influence of a family like this one can make quite a difference. But that doesn't mean that my past won't still follow me," she said sadly. "In fact, I was very recently reminded that it can come back to haunt me at unexpected times."

"You mean James Moriarty?"

"That's right. I told Sherlock that he might not be a man to be trusted, if he did indeed know Robert. But there's more to consider, Dr. Watson," Mary said with a sigh. "You have your reputation to think about, and your business. Do you believe that your work as a doctor would be in no way tarnished if it became known that you'd married a woman who might be a murderer? You could be ruined."

John sighed and clasped his hands in his lap. "Miss Morstan, I appreciate the concern, but my reputation and business are not the only things that concern me. I also care about my happiness...and I care about yours. Do you doubt that I could make you happy?"

Mary laughed a little and shook her head. "I wish I did! No, of course I do not doubt it. How could I? What I question is whether I would truly be the making of your happiness. I fear I could easily become a greater burden than a joy, and I don't know how I could live with myself if you came to resent me."

"Resent you? Miss Morstan, how can you think-"

"No, you don't understand!" she cut him off. "I know what it's like to live in an unhappy union. I've lived it, and I've even seen it. So do not pretend that this isn't something serious to consider! I will not allow you to take this so lightly!"

John listened carefully, and saw how her eyes glistened with the pain from her past and fears for the future. He came up with a compromise.

"If you feel I am being too hasty, I will agree to think about what you've told me. I will think about it and consider my feelings on the matter. And I swear to you that whatever conclusion I reach will be based on careful examination of the facts. Can you accept that? And will you agree to allow me to speak to you again?"

Mary swallowed hard as she watched his eyes searching her features. She still felt as though she didn't deserve this man, but she couldn't deny the fact that he was still sitting here with her. She'd told him everything, and he was still here.

"Yes," she answered in a whisper. "You may speak to me again. And I will listen."

"Good." John smiled. "Why don't you go back to the house, and I'll return separately in a few minutes."

Mary got up, feeling a little lighter suddenly, and knew it was the weight of secrets that had been finally lifted. "I will see you back at the house, Dr. Watson."

John nodded and watched her walk away. He didn't mind waiting there for a while so that they didn't return together. He was happy to stay right where he was, seeing as he had quite a lot to think about.

* * *

Redbeard jumped at Molly's heels as she walked to the carriage with her father.

"Somebody doesn't want to let you leave," Dr. Hooper laughed.

"Redbeard," Sherlock's firm voice made the puppy immediately run to his side. "Stay."

The puppy seemed to muster all his restraint to stay put as his master had commanded, while Sherlock walked forward to the carriage. Dr. Hooper had just taken a seat, and he then watched carefully as Sherlock took firm hold of Molly's hand while she stepped up to climb into the carriage.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," Molly said softly, giving him a shy smile.

Sherlock's release of her fingers was very slightly delayed as she finally took a seat and he uttered the words, "Thank you for coming, Miss Hooper." Finally their hands did separate, and Sherlock's gaze slid away from Molly and fell to her father.

"Dr. Hooper," he said simply, with a nod.

"Mr. Holmes," the man said, with his own small nod and smile. Then he looked out to the rest of the Holmes household as well. "Thank you to your family for the invitation today. It was a lovely afternoon, and we are very grateful...for everything." He finished his words with another glance at Sherlock.

Everyone said their goodbyes, and the carriage began to move. It was hardly surprising to John Watson that as the rest of the family began to walk away and Sherlock stayed standing there watching, Molly Hooper turned around, giving his friend one more glance. John stepped forward to stand next to Sherlock and he cleared his throat.

"I do hope you realize that that woman is in love with you," John said, raising his eyebrows at Sherlock.

Sherlock barely flinched, but he gave John a brief sideways glance before answering. "Surely she's not," he answered in a quiet and unconvincing voice.

John chuckled beside him. He turned and began heading up the front steps, but he called over his shoulder to Sherlock, "Perhaps you should make better use of your observation skills, detective Holmes!"

Sherlock said nothing in reply. He stayed put and watched as the carriage disappeared around some trees, then he finally turned to go back inside as well. He grumbled to himself a bit as he walked with Redbeard bouncing along at his feet.

How had he managed to have his ability to observe insulted twice in one afternoon?

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	10. Chapter 10

"You wish there was going to be dancing?" John asked as the carriage moved along the bumpy road.

"Yes, if only to offer some sort of distraction. I don't want to _converse_ with these people. They will only end up speaking of stupid things."

"Is anything other than crime and experiments stupid?" John laughed.

"Most things," Sherlock muttered while looking out the window.

"Perhaps dogs are an acceptable topic of conversation now?"

"Perhaps. In fact, come to think of it, I'd have preferred staying home with Redbeard to an evening at the Hawkins'."

"Maybe Janine is more fascinated by crime and mystery than you know! You should try talking to her about some of your cases," John offered.

"Don't be ridiculous! I can already _deduce_ she wouldn't be interested!" Sherlock said wearily.

John dropped the subject. Clearly Sherlock had already made up his mind that this was not a crowd of people he wanted to be around. John knew exactly where, and with whom, he would be more comfortable, but he decided against starting another battle. Instead, he changed the topic of conversation to something more personal.

"Holmes, I would like for you to know that I plan on proposing marriage to Miss Morstan very soon."

Sherlock looked at him with a teasing eyebrow raised. "You've done all the required thinking then?"

"I do hope I have," John chuckled. "I hope she can believe that I will happily take her as she is. And I still wish you would have told me everything when I'd first come to Seaborne!" he added with a finger pointed at his friend.

"Watson, if I had done that, all that would have been accomplished is that Mary would be angry with me in addition to believing it best she remain unmarried."

"Things at least could have progressed a bit faster!" John countered.

"It's barely been two months since you've met her! What, were you hoping to be married already?" he frowned.

"Well I would certainly like to be, naturally."

"Honestly," he said in a superior tone. "I cannot see why everyone must always rush marriage along."

John turned slowly to look at him again, with eyes wide and brows raised high. "You cannot see that? Well...perhaps I'll explain it to you one day, once you're a bit older."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do keep your details to yourself, Dr. Watson."

"Yes, well, let's not get away from the actual topic at hand. If all goes well, I do hope to be getting married soon. I should hope we would have your blessing."

"The union doesn't require my blessing."

John pursed his lip. "That's true, I suppose. But I'd like to have it. She's your cousin, and I'm your closest friend."

Sherlock inhaled and exhaled slowly before replying. "Well then, you have it. And perhaps if your professional reputation is sadly tarnished by your new wife's past problems, you'll simply become all the more available to help me with cases." He grinned happily.

John shook his head and laughed. "I'm so pleased you've decided to look for the positive side of this possible marriage! Charming, as always, that you've discovered how it will most likely benefit you."

"I do try to remain consistent, Watson." He gave his friend a self-satisfied smile.

* * *

They arrived at the Hawkins' estate not long after that. It definitely turned out to be a small dinner party; only a few other guests besides the household of Seaborne. And, not surprisingly to Sherlock, there weren't any other unmarried ladies included in the group. The Hawkins were certainly doing their best to make sure Sherlock wasn't unnecessarily distracted.

By the time dinner was over, Sherlock was already tiring of the company. He felt vaguely sorry for Janine as well. It was becoming clear that she could see his disinterest, but obviously her parents were still in favor of cultivating a relationship. As they all left the dining room, Sherlock walked with Janine, since he found her to be at least no less unappealing than the rest of the party.

"I would very much like it if we could be friends, Mr. Holmes," Janine said suddenly, making him look at her in a little shock.

"Would you?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"Yes, of course. It seems that perhaps that is all we'll ever be," she said with a sideways glance at him, and laughed a little. "Or perhaps I'll be fortunate enough to be a client someday."

Sherlock gave her a quick smile. "Have you any mysteries that need solving then, Miss Hawkins?"

"I'll let you know," she said as they stopped in the hallway where the party was separating be gender. "If much more time passes, and I remain unmarried, I'll have to ask you to solve the mystery of why I've become an old maid. Or perhaps that's the one sort of mystery you are not qualified to solve."

"Mm, not exactly my area. If that is where your mystery lies, I would direct you to someone very different, perhaps a friend of mine in London. I happen to know a woman who seems an expert in the art of attracting the attentions of men."

"Do you? How fascinating. I suppose she is married?"

"No indeed, she is not. But that is not for lack of offers. Incidentally, I believe she was to be visiting before the end of the summer, as a guest of my brother's wife. She is not a favorite of my mother's, but I'm sure we will all live through it somehow." Sherlock smirked.

"I shall look forward to meeting her. She's a favorite of yours then?" Janine smiled slyly.

Sherlock tilted his head at Janine. "I don't have _those_ sorts of favorites, Miss Hawkins."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, there's no need to lie...especially not to yourself." She laughed a little as she went passed him and followed the rest of the ladies into another room.

Sherlock walked away as well, following the men into the library to continue the evening enduring tedious conversation about money and politics.

* * *

"Bees, you say?" Lord Hawkins asked in the most diplomatic tone he could muster.

"That's right, bees. It's something to keep me occupied." Then he added under his breath, "Can't cut up body parts all the time now can I?"

"I'm sorry?" the man said, frowning.

"Uh, Mr. Holmes recently got a dog, isn't that right?" John quickly cut in, trying to steer the conversation in a more socially acceptable direction.

"Oh, excellent! What breed?"

"Irish setter," Sherlock answered. He was just about to tell a detailed account of the pride he felt when little Redbeard killed a rodent in his lab, thus affording him the opportunity to study the internal organs of the creature...but that was when the door to the library opened and the Hawkins' butler appeared.

"Forgive me sir, but there's a man here looking for Dr. Watson," the butler said to Mr. Hawkins.

John stood immediately, making his excuses and leaving the room. Sherlock waited silently for John to return while the rest of the men voiced their concerns and hopes that it wasn't anything serious. When John walked back in the room, Sherlock jumped up almost before he started speaking.

"It was Dr. Hooper's man. The poor man rode to Seaborne first, only to discover I wasn't there. Miss Hooper sent for me...it doesn't sound good," John said to Sherlock in a low voice. "I need to take the carriage. Can you go back to Seaborne with the rest of them?"

"Sherlock can get home with us," Mycroft spoke up from nearby.

"Absolutely not," Sherlock frowned at both men. "I'm coming with you, Watson."

"I'm sure Dr. Watson doesn't need your assistance, brother," Mycroft chimed in again.

"Yes, I am sure he doesn't," Sherlock answered, advancing toward the door with John. "But I am going all the same. Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Hawkins. Mycroft, do inform the rest of the family that we will likely be quite late. Good evening."

The two men were out the door in a flash, leaving Mycroft to fend for himself...and to speculate as to why Sherlock had insisted on going along. It didn't give him the best of feelings...

* * *

The carriage came to a stop outside of the Hooper's home and John looked at Sherlock sternly before moving from his seat.

"This is a serious business, Holmes. A man may die tonight. Do not get in the way, and do not take this lightly. This is not a production for your amusement, do you understand?"

"Save your breath, Watson. I'm not here for amusement...and I'm not here for you." Sherlock's expression was dead serious.

John nodded. "That's exactly what I was hoping...let's go."

The housekeeper let them in and ushered them upstairs.

"Miss Hooper didn't want to send for you. Took us most of today to convince her!" Mrs. Hart said, her voice quivering. "I don't think she wanted to believe that this was it. The poor dear kept hoping he was having a bad spell. She knows enough to realize that isn't what's happening, but she just didn't want to believe it."

When they walked into the bedroom where the man lay, Sherlock immediately recognized the sound in the room as that of the "death rattle." Dr. Hooper's breathing was shallow and gargling, and it added to the evidence that the man had little time left in this world. His eyes were closed and he seemed barely conscious. Sherlock wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved to see this. Did he want the chance to speak to this man one more time? Was there really anything left to say? He honestly didn't know.

Molly sat beside the bed, clutching at one of her father's hands, but when she heard the men enter the room, she turned to look up at them and Sherlock saw the red rimmed tired brown eyes.

Molly got up from where she sat and advanced a little toward John. "I- I'm sorry to send for you. It's just, I don't think he's getting better tonight and- and I wasn't sure what else to do so...perhaps you should have a look at him and..." Molly's voice trailed off and her face started to crumple, so she covered it with her hands.

John reached out and touched her shoulder as he spoke softly. "Miss Hooper, try to rest a bit. I'm sure you've been taking care of him for quite some time now, and you've done wonderfully. I'll take a look, and let you know what I think. Why don't you have a seat downstairs? Mrs. Hart, would you put the kettle on and get Miss Hooper some tea?" John said to the housekeeper who was still standing at the doorway. She nodded and ran off downstairs.

"Holmes, take her downstairs," John added to Sherlock as he passed by Molly to get to where Dr. Hooper lay.

Sherlock didn't say anything, but simply exited the room along with Molly and followed her down the stairs. They went into the dimly lit sitting room and waited for Mrs. Hart to bring the tea that John had requested.

Molly practically collapsed onto the couch while letting out a heavy sigh. She cradled her forehead in her palm, and the bits of hair that had come out of her day old braid fell over her hand and face. She looked as if she'd done little or nothing for herself in at least the past twenty four hours. Sherlock had walked over to the window of the sitting room, but he turned back to look at the woman sitting silently on the couch. When he watched her, he felt rather helpless. In that moment, he could fully admit to himself that he came here tonight for _her_...but he wished he knew what to do.

As if she were reading his mind across the half darkened divide of the room, she suddenly said, "You didn't have to come, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock swallowed hard. "Yes I did," he whispered.

Molly raised her head and looked at him, and he stared back at her for a moment. Before either of them could say anything more, Mrs. Hart came in with a tray of tea. She poured some for Molly and some for Sherlock, and then left the room again with a cup for John upstairs.

Sherlock came and sat across from Molly, and he watched as her hands shook while bringing the cup to her lips. She took a sip, and then set the cup back down on the tray, as if that had been the most taxing thing she'd had to do all day.

"I don't think I really believed this day would come," she said quietly as she stared off into empty space and shook her head slowly. "This doesn't feel real...I don't want it to be real."

A moment later, John came into the room, making Molly jump from her seat. He walked over to her and gave her a small sympathetic smile before speaking.

"Miss Hooper, I think you know what I have to say," he began gently.

Molly pressed her lips together tightly and nodded, trying to keep herself together.

"It will be tonight, I'm fairly certain." John said to her, but glanced over at Sherlock, seeing how riveted his friend was as well.

"W-what do I do?" she asked with a tremor in her voice. "Tell me what I should do."

John gave her another kind smile. "There's no more work to be done, Miss Hooper. All you need to do is be with him. Go and be with your father, and do your best to be strong for him. He may not seem aware of much, but he will certainly be easier in his passing if you are with him, holding his hand."

Molly pressed her hand over her eyes and sniffed a couple of times, not saying anything. Then she removed her hand and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She seemed to put on a suit of armor in a matter of seconds. She looked back at John with a bit of renewed strength.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson. I'll go back upstairs now. I will fetch you if there is any change." She looked over her shoulder at Sherlock for a second, and then bravely made her way out of the room.

John blew out a breath as he sat down where Molly had been. He rubbed his head for a moment before looking across at Sherlock. "It's already rather late, Holmes. I don't know how long this will take. It could be minutes, it could be hours. Are you sure you'd like to stay? If you'd like to take the carriage and send it back for me-"

"Absolutely not," he said immediately. "I'm not going anywhere."

John nodded. "Right, well then, we'd better get comfortable." He laid his head against the back of the couch and shut his eyes, hoping to get a bit of rest before he was needed again.

Sherlock stayed awake for quite some time. He sat there, deep in thought, with fingers poised against his chin. He remembered all the things that the man who lay dying upstairs had said to him. He thought about how much Molly meant to her father, and that he'd rarely observed that sort of devotion in a parent. Sherlock was used to death. He saw it all the time, and he rarely found it to be distasteful. In fact it usually did little more than intrigue him. This was one of the first times that he found himself wishing he could stop it. He wanted to save her the pain...

* * *

Hours passed. Sherlock tried to sleep a couple of times, but wasn't really able to. He was mostly lost in thought and paced around the room. John went upstairs to check on things a couple of times, but he was also able to sleep a bit, and Sherlock was glad. John needed the sleep more than he did. He couldn't function as well without it.

Sherlock had just finished another round of pacing the floor, and taken a seat in a chair again, when the door swung open and a bleary eyed Molly came walking in. Sherlock jumped up from his seat again, and John's head shot up as he woke.

She looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment before seemingly forcing her lips to part. "Dr. Watson, I...I need you to check him, because I think...I think he's...can you check please? I- I just can't-" Her words were choked suddenly, and some sobs that she attempted to hold in, came out anyway.

Before John could even fully stand up, Sherlock crossed the room to Molly. He locked an arm firmly around her waist and guided her over to the couch, sitting them both down.

Sherlock looked up at John. "Just go," he commanded while gesturing to the door with his eyes. John nodded, left from the room immediately, and he could be heard quickly ascending the steps.

Sherlock had released Molly's waist the moment she'd made contact with the couch, but he stayed beside her and watched intently as she tried to hold in the noises accompanying the tears that flowed freely down her pale cheeks. She seemed to be trying not to look at him, keeping her face turned away so he couldn't see her completely. The room was silent aside from her stifled sobs.

Sherlock looked down and saw her small hand gripping the edge of the couch cushion, fingers digging into the fabric till her knuckles turned white. He couldn't recall ever before feeling compelled to offer comfort through touch. But to see her grasping at this piece of furniture simply because it was the only thing that she could grasp...it moved him.

He inched his hand over till his fingers, and finally his entire palm, covered her hand. She barely reacted, as far as he could see. Gradually, he worked his fingers underneath hers, separating them from the cushion. Once he'd gotten her hand cradled in his own though, her reaction was instantaneous. She wrapped her fingers around his hand as well, and squeezed back with a strength that he wouldn't have thought she possessed. They sat there for a moment, hands clasped tightly, both saying nothing. But when the door opened and John came through it, Molly released Sherlock's hand and stood up.

John walked forward and gazed sadly at Molly. "I'm so sorry, Miss Hooper," he said softly.

Molly's features crumpled again and she covered her mouth as she rushed from the room and back up the stairs. Sherlock started walking forward to follow her but John put a hand out, halting him.

"Let her go, Holmes. She may need another moment alone...to say goodbye."

Sherlock wordlessly complied and went back to sit on the couch with a thud. John sighed and ran his hands through his hair as he walked over to the window. "It's near dawn, I think."

Sherlock took out his watch and peered at the time, leaning closer to a nearby candle. "Yes, it's about four in the morning. What else needs to be done?" he added as he closed the watch again and placed it back inside his coat.

"The body will need to be laid out, of course. I can see to that. I'll have Mrs. Hart help, and perhaps another servant or two...I was thinking that perhaps Miss Hooper shouldn't be here on her own right now. Why don't you take her back to Seaborne? Ask Mary to look after her."

Sherlock nodded. "What about you?"

"After you get back to Seaborne and get Molly settled, send the carriage back for me. I hope to God I'll be done by then and ready to sleep for the next day or so."

Sherlock stood slowly. "I'll go fetch her. The carriage should be back for you in a couple of hours. You'd better go and tell the staff as well. I suspect Mrs. Hart is awake in the kitchen and waiting for news." He went to exit the room.

"Holmes?" John called after him, making him turn again. "Thank you...Well done tonight."

Sherlock gave him a quick nod, and left to go upstairs. John took a deep breath in anticipation of breaking the news to the rest of the house.

Sherlock walked back into the room that he'd entered some hours before, except now there was silence. Not even the sound of labored breathing greeted him. There was only cold stillness. Molly sat on the edge of the bed, holding onto her father's hand, which was likely turning cold. She didn't even turn when Sherlock came in and walked over to stand next to her. He looked down at the man's pale lifeless face, and unconsciously spared a moment to remember it as it had been...warm and animated and happy...especially when he'd spoken about his daughter. Sherlock turned his attention back to her.

"Miss Hooper, I'm going to take you back to Seaborne...do not argue."

Molly turned her face upward to look at him, and the dark circles around her still lovely eyes took him back a little.

"I'll not argue with you," she answered in a whisper. "I haven't the strength. I don't think I have the strength to do anything but breathe...and even that hurts." She looked back at her father and leaned forward to kiss his forehead before gently placing his hand back down beside him, and standing from her seat on the bed.

Molly pressed her lips together as she looked down at the man who raised her, then turned to exit the room quickly. Sherlock followed her down the stairs and through the front door. They stepped outside and for a moment, she just stood statue still, staring blankly into the still darkened sky.

"Miss Hooper?" he prompted, making her finally follow him to the carriage.

Sherlock woke the poor carriage driver and told him of the plan he and John had arranged. He helped Molly into the carriage, and then climbed in after her. The wheels began moving, and for a while, Molly's eyes stayed on her home as they began to move further away from it.

There was silence for a few minutes as they moved, and Sherlock kept his eyes out the window, in hopes of distracting himself. He wasn't sure how much more emotion he could handle in one night. This had been a bit of an overload of feeling, and there was a part of him that wished he could shut if off. That's when her voice cut through the darkness in the carriage.

"He looked sad," she whispered.

Sherlock turned from the window and looked at her. She turned to meet his gaze as well, and he could see the moisture shining around her eyes.

"A couple of days ago," she went on. "He was outside for some fresh air...that was the last time he went outside actually...I was sitting with him, talking to him, and he seemed just fine. He was cheerful, and just lovely. I asked him if he'd like some tea, and he said yes, so I went inside to tell Mrs. Hart. When I was inside, I looked out the window, and I saw him sitting there by himself...he looked sad." She looked down at her hands in her lap and Sherlock saw her lip quivering.

"He didn't want me to see," she said as her voice broke. She drew a shaky breath as she looked back up at Sherlock. "I should have asked what was worrying him. I should have talked to him about it...but I didn't. I thought I should let him alone, and not pester him. It was only later that day that he took a turn for the worse. He ended up in bed, and never got up again...and now he's gone. I'd give anything to go back in time and run to him, talk to him, and comfort him somehow! All I can see is him sitting there alone, looking so sad, like the whole world was coming down on him...and it's killing me!" Molly covered her face and doubled over as sobs began to shake her whole body. She couldn't contain them anymore, the way she had in the house.

Sherlock pressed his eyes closed for a moment, trying to will away the emotion that this scene conjured inside him. He opened his eyes, and saw that she was still unchanged.

"Miss Hooper...please," he murmured. He supposed his plea was for her to stop, but not just because he didn't know what to do. It was also because it was literally painful for him to see her like this.

Molly sat up again but kept a hand over her mouth as she tried to calm herself, with little success. "He looked so sad," she said again, but the words were muffled behind her fingers.

Sherlock couldn't handle seeing it anymore. He reached across the carriage and placed a hand on her knee. "Miss Hooper, try to take a few slow breaths." She barely seemed to register his touch or words.

Sherlock got up and moved over to her side of the carriage, sitting next to her. "Miss Hooper," he repeated, more firmly. "Look at me."

Molly continued to shake slightly as tears ran down her cheeks. Sherlock wondered if she'd have an ounce of water left in her body when all was said and done.

"Please, look at me," he said again. Finally, he reached out and wrapped his hand around hers that rested in her lap, and he wasn't quite sure why, but he used her name...

"Molly," he said in a low voice that seemed to echo against the walls of the carriage. And somehow the sound of him speaking her given name like that was what made her actually turn and face him. Her tears still fell, and she was still trying to sniff them away, but it was her name on his lips that at least began to bring her back to reality.

She swallowed hard as she stared back at him in the dim light of the carriage. His face was only inches away, and it was enough to shock her out of her crying spell for the moment.

"Miss Hooper," he said softly, returning to the standard formalities, especially after witnessing the look on her face. "Please try to calm down. Take a few deep breaths, and just relax your mind."

She did take some deep breaths, and started to calm down a bit. Though the calm that settled in only brought on intense fatigue.

"I wish he would have shared his worries with me," Molly went on, but she was more relaxed this time. "Why didn't he want me to see?" she asked sadly as she looked back into Sherlock's eyes.

The truth was that Sherlock knew. He knew what made her father sad. It was the man's fears for his daughter. Of course he hid that from her. He didn't want to worry her, and he didn't want to upset her. But from his dealings with Nicholas Hooper, Sherlock knew that nothing would have made him sadder than the simple fact that he was leaving his beloved daughter, and he would miss everything in her life that was to come...good and bad. He didn't want to leave her.

Sherlock wasn't good at this sort of thing, but again, he felt compelled to a degree that he hadn't in the past, for the purpose of easing her pain.

"Because...he loved you," Sherlock answered quietly, looking down as he slowly spoke these words. "I am no expert in the field of family bonds, but I can tell you that I have never seen a man so purely devoted to his child, in the way that your father loved you. He would have done anything for you, and your happiness. It was all he truly cared about. So of course he didn't want you to see. He was protecting you. But of course he was sad, Miss Hooper." Sherlock looked up at her again as he whispered his last words. "He simply didn't want to leave _you_."

Molly pressed a hand over her mouth again as a couple more tears fell. She nodded though, knowing that he was right, and allowing herself to see the beauty in her memory, instead of the pain. She sniffled a few times and Sherlock dug into his pocked to give her the handkerchief which he realized should have been offered long ago. Molly wiped her face and nose, and then let her head fall back against the seat as she let out a sigh.

Sherlock leaned against the seat as well, releasing his own long held breath. He could tell that Molly was calming down to the point where she was close to sleep, and he hoped it meant she would get some genuine rest once they arrived at Seaborne.

At that point, he also glanced downward and realized that Molly's hand was still locked tightly with his own in her small lap. He may not be one for sentiment and affection, but he couldn't in a million years imagine taking his hand back right then. In that moment, it felt a little bit like his hand belonged to her, for no other reason than that she needed it. She needed it, so it was hers. He wondered to himself if there was anything he wouldn't give her in that moment, if he thought it would take away even a piece of her pain.

That was when he felt her head drop down on his shoulder, but that didn't bother him either. He could still only think, _yes, take my shoulder too, if that's what you need._ He jostled them a bit as he turned his head to try and see if her eyes were closed, and that somewhat roused her from her light sleep.

She didn't wake enough to move, but he heard her mumble a "sorry" against his coat.

Sherlock smiled very slightly at the thought of Molly apologizing for anything at this moment. He turned his face toward the head on his shoulder, and spoke words into her hair that were barely even loud enough to qualify as a whisper...

"Whatever you need."

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	11. Chapter 11

Molly slowly opened her eyes, and noticed some slivers of sunshine peeking through the heavy drapes that covered the windows. She took a minute to register exactly where she was...and why.

When it all came flooding back, it felt a bit like waking up _to_ a nightmare, as opposed to waking up from one. She felt a lump forming in her throat almost as soon as she was fully conscious, but that was when she felt something move next to her and nudge her head. She was grateful for the distraction.

Molly rolled over and smiled, despite her sadness. "Good morning to you too," she whispered. "I'm afraid I'm not very good company right now, but thank you for staying with me. I bet you miss your master though."

Redbeard snuggled up against her head and licked her face, making her smile again. She scratched his silky head and kissed him before pushing herself up to sit against the headboard. Her whole body felt heavy, and the thought of getting out of this bed was more than she could imagine at the moment. She wished the circumstances were different, because it really was a lovely bed, and a lovely room. If only she could enjoy being here.

By the time they had arrived at Seaborne, the bright orange beginnings of sunrise could already be seen peeking out on the horizon. Molly remembered how she was jolted awake by the carriage coming to a stop, and she was a little embarrassed to realize that she'd been sleeping on Sherlock's shoulder for who knows how long...

* * *

_"Miss Hooper, why don't we get you inside?" Sherlock said gently, as she had raised her head and began rubbing her eyes._

_The driver opened the door, and as Sherlock climbed out, he gave some instructions to the butler who had run out, finally seeing the carriage arrive._

_"Hurry back inside please, and have one of the lady's maids wake Miss Morstan. She needs to come downstairs immediately. Tell her that Miss Hooper's father has just passed away, and she is here in need of rest."_

_The butler nodded and ran back inside to do exactly as he was instructed as Molly began slowly climbing out of the carriage. Sherlock took her hand and helped her down the steps. She gratefully accepted the arm he offered, and they made their way to the front door of the estate._

_They went inside, and Molly leaned on a nearby wall for support after losing the arm she'd had a moment before. Sherlock gave his coat to the butler who had just returned._

_"Miss Morstan should be downstairs in just a moment, sir," the butler assured Sherlock._

_As the man walked away, they heard the soft pounding of tiny paws, and Redbeard came flying down the hallway toward them. Mrs. Hudson was following him and looking rather fatigued._

_"He drove me absolutely mad, Mr. Holmes! You'll have to start taking him with you wherever you go, or he will surely begin climbing the very walls!" she sighed._

_Sherlock crouched down to greet Redbeard, but also gave Mrs. Hudson a meaningful look and glanced in Molly's direction. The older woman got the message instantly and clasped a hand over her mouth._

_"Oh...oh my poor dear!" Mrs. Hudson said softly. She went straight over to Molly and wrapped her arms around the small shoulders that carried so much weight. "Can I do anything? Do you need anything, anything at all?"_

_Molly simply shook her head as Mrs. Hudson stepped back from the warm embrace, but she also smiled gratefully at her. Just then, Mary came rushing down the stairs. She ran straight to Molly as well and encircled her in a hug. The second hug in a row from a sympathetic person made Molly start to tear up again._

_"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry," Mary whispered softly, her own voice breaking. "Come with me, I'll get you settled, and then you can get some sleep." Mary put an arm around Molly's waist and began leading her away._

_Redbeard broke away from Sherlock and ran over to Molly before she could get far. He hopped around and gave little barks at her ankles. Molly stopped and took the time to bend down and pet him for a moment and kiss his head._

_"You should stay with your master, Redbeard," she whispered in a still unsteady voice. "Go on."_

_Molly stood again and began to walk away, but Redbeard still trotted along next to her, so she stopped again. "Mr. Holmes, I think you had better call him. He seems quite determined."_

_"You can keep him with you, if you'd like. I don't mind," Sherlock answered softly, wishing that there weren't onlookers at the moment._

_Molly realized how surprisingly comforting that sounded at the moment. She stared back at Sherlock and one corner of her mouth slowly curled up a bit. "Really? Thank you."_

_Sherlock nodded in answer, and slowly Molly turned again to start walking with Mary. Redbeard followed briskly along with them, and soon they disappeared around the curve of the staircase._

_Mrs. Hudson came over to him and gave his arm a small pat. "You should get some sleep as well, young man. I imagine you've not slept all night. You'll soon be no use to anybody if you don't get some rest," she said gently._

_Sherlock shook himself from thought and registered the kind words. "Yes, yes of course," he said with a blank stare. He realized that he was genuinely tired. The thought of collapsing in his bed, was an appealing one at the moment._

_"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he gave the woman's hand a small squeeze, and then slowly walked away, trudging up the stairs._

* * *

Molly looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was already mid-day. She sighed heavily, knowing that she needed to get up. She needed to put one foot in front of the other, and she needed to walk around and go on with life. She just didn't want to. She heard a soft knock at the door and called for the person to enter.

Mary poked her head in, and seeing Molly sitting up and awake, she entered the room and closed the door behind her. She took a seat on the edge of the bed, accepting Redbeard's greetings, and then grasping Molly's hand which rested on the covers.

"Are you feeling a bit better? You look better. I think you needed some hours of uninterrupted sleep. That can make a world of difference."

Molly raised her eyes to Mary. "I don't think there's much that can make a difference right now," she said sadly.

"Oh, I know...I know," Mary whispered back and touched Molly's cheek. "My dear, I don't want to rush you. But I wanted to ask, do you have anything suitable to wear?"

Molly frowned slightly, realizing that this was a valid question. And of course the answer was, no, he did not have any mourning attire. She hadn't even thought of such a thing, and even if she had, she could never have brought herself to "plan ahead" for the need. She supposed she could use a simple black ribbon or armband, like some do.

"I'll get you something of mine," Mary said, before Molly could open her mouth. She could see the need clearly enough.

"Miss Morstan, you don't have to. Your family has been far too kind. There's really no need, when you've all done so much already."

"But _I've_ done nothing yet," Mary smiled. "Please allow me to do this. I feel that I'd like to have some part in coming to your aid. It is no hardship, and it would make me very happy to do something to support you."

Molly smiled and squeezed Mary's hand tighter, feeling her eyes begin to fill.

"No, no," Mary said quickly. "No more tears allowed. At least not till you have some tea!" Mary sniffed a bit, trying not to cry herself.

Molly nodded, blinking away the moisture from her eyes.

"I'll just go and get you a gown. I will also fetch one of the lady's maids. She'll fix your hair for you. You don't have to come downstairs, but you'll be welcome to."

"I- I think I'd rather not, for now. Would it be possible to have some tea brought up? Oh, and could you take Redbeard downstairs? I'm sure he could do with a walk outside. I don't want to make him stay cooped up with me forever, the poor little dear."

"Of course," Mary smiled. "I'll speak to someone right away about the tea. And I'll make sure Redbeard gets to Sherlock. I'll be back in just a few minutes."

Molly mustered up a smile in return and gave Redbeard one more snuggle before Mary left the room with him. She let her head fall back against the headboard again, and she wondered when it would stop hurting like this. Would it ever stop hurting again?

* * *

Sherlock had only been able to sleep for a few hours. He got up, dressed, visited his bees, played his violin, and then stayed in the library. Eventually, in the late morning, Mrs. Hudson came to collect him, saying that his mother was looking for him. He joined the others in the drawing room for tea.

Everyone seemed to be watching him carefully and looking at him almost suspiciously. They were acting like he was the one who had suffered a loss. But he didn't care. He certainly didn't feel like speaking to any of them anyway. John had come home even later, so had still been asleep at that point, and Molly was sleeping as well.

It was a couple of hours later while he was puttering around in his lab that he heard a knock on the door.

"Enter," he called out.

"Hello," Mary said with a smile. As she came in and Redbeard bounced passed her to greet him.

"Good afternoon," Sherlock said in a voice that was reserved only for the puppy. He looked back up at Mary. "Where is she?"

"Miss Hooper will not likely leave her room today. Perhaps later, but she certainly does not want to venture out right now. I just had tea sent up to her."

Sherlock nodded. "I plan to go into town today and ensure that a burial can take place no later than tomorrow. It is summer, after all." The grim realities of life had to be admitted. Science was science whether it was a clump of dirt one was studying, or the body of a loved one that was decaying. It was a constant, and could not be argued with.

"Naturally," Mary agreed sadly. "I will be lending her a gown for mourning. She had none."

Sherlock nodded again, but said nothing.

Mary was quiet for a moment, then stepped a bit closer to her cousin. "Are you...well?"

"I'm perfectly fine," Sherlock answered quickly.

"I'm glad. I just thought perhaps this had been difficult on you as well. Dr. Hooper was your friend, I believe. And you are a friend to Miss Hooper of course. It wasn't an easy night, but I'm sure she was grateful to have you there."

"Perhaps," Sherlock answered quietly as he crouched down to pay Redbeard some attention.

"I'm sure he could use a walk outside. Miss Hooper had me bring him back to you so that he could get out a bit."

"I'll be sure to take him out. Thank you, Mary." He gave his cousin a small smile.

"You're welcome. I'll just go back upstairs. I need to get her that gown."

Sherlock's expression fell a bit after Mary left the room. He tried to focus on the puppy who was excitedly seeking his attention, but it was difficult. There was just something about the idea of Molly Hooper wearing black...that seemed so wrong.

* * *

Mary came back into the guest room a while later, and the lady's maid was just finishing up the simple style she'd done on Molly's hair. It was neatly pulled back and pinned at her nape. There were very few curls and no extra frills. Nothing like that was needed, or would be needed for a while.

Molly turned when Mary entered the room, and she gave her a smile before thanking the maid.

"I feel a bit better. At least I'm not such a mess anymore."

"You look just fine. And I am pleased to see this dress fits you reasonably well. Thankfully this was one I had from years ago, and I was a bit smaller. My parents both passed away when I was younger."

"I'm so sorry. I suppose that you understand what this is like," Molly said, touching Mary's hand as she rose from the chair.

"A bit, I suppose, though I was not as close to either of my parents as you were to your father. I think that's a beautiful thing, and it is a deeper loss. All of us in this house can see that, and that's why we all want to be here for you."

"I've never felt more grateful. You've all been so wonderful already. The way Mr. Holmes comforted me so kindly early this morning, it was-" Molly's cheeks suddenly colored a bit and she broke eye contact from Mary.

Somehow, she hadn't recognized the intimacy of the time they'd spend in the darkened carriage till she'd begun to speak of it aloud. She'd been thinking of her father, she'd been grieving, and hadn't been able to analyze much else in the moment. But in the light of day, as she replayed the scene in her mind, she felt like her head was spinning when remembering all he said, and all he did...

Mary took a step closer and placed a hand over Molly's again. "He cares for you," she whispered with a soft smile. "They are not always very good at showing it, the Holmes men, but he does. I am not sure that I've ever witnessed him being quite as compassionate as he has been with you."

Molly nodded, still looking down. She looked at Mary cautiously, and softly said, "he is a good friend."

"He can be, yes," Mary agreed, and then decided to put this topic to rest. Molly's father was barely cold. This was not the time to discuss romance with the poor girl. But Mary believed it was there, lurking between her and Sherlock, and she wondered how long her cousin would insist on biding his time...the stubborn fool.

"I shall make all the excuses for you that you desire, my dear. You're welcome to stay and collect yourself for as long as you'd like."

"Thank you, but...I don't plan to stay much longer. I will be leaving quite soon actually."

"There's no need to rush!" Mary gently assured her. "Stay another night, please, it's no trouble."

"No, really, I should be getting back. I am not ungrateful, but I don't want to leave the house alone for too long. I'm sure our few servants understood last night, when I left, but I don't want to abandon them. They are grieving too, of course."

"Of course," Mary agreed. "I do understand. But please send word if you need anything else. And I believe Sherlock is doing what he can to secure the burial arrangements. You'll have nothing to worry about, I'm sure. Sherlock has his ways of getting what he wants."

"Well I'm grateful, again. Of course it's nothing I'd like to be doing at the moment. And anything to speed things along would be appreciated...I just want him at peace."

Mary's brow creased at Molly's sad words. "He is, my dear. He's at peace because he had you with him at the end. And he also knew that you would have a lovely life ahead of you. I'm sure that did wonders to ease his mind."

Molly smiled, but couldn't help the bit of doubt that conjured in her mind. What would her life be like now? How lonely would she be without the person who she'd been closest to for all these years? At this very moment, she didn't see a "lovely life" stretching ahead of her. In fact, as she took another glance at herself in the mirror, she saw very little beyond the moment she was in.

* * *

Sherlock walked into the front door of Seaborne with Redbeard trailing along behind him. He caught sight of John in the sitting room and came in to say hello.

"I imagine you haven't been awake for very long."

John shook his head. "Not long, though I feel as though I should still be asleep. I believe I'm already looking forward to bed time tonight." He put down his tea and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The coffin will be delivered later tonight to the Hooper's. I...expedited the production significantly."

"What did you do? Threaten them?" John laughed.

Sherlock shrugged. "I simply made them aware of a few things about their business practice...things that they wouldn't want other people to know."

John shook his head. "I can't find it in myself to disapprove in this instance. I'm in favor of whatever happens to make things easier and quicker for everyone involved."

"Mm, precisely," Sherlock answered, a bit absentmindedly as he grabbed a biscuit from the tea tray. "Miss Hooper remains upstairs then?"

"I believe so. I only just came down an hour ago myself, so I don't know for sure. You probably shouldn't expect to see her, though."

"Yes, perhaps not," Sherlock answered quietly.

John watched his friend, and carefully picked apart the things he _wasn't_ saying. He'd seen what had transpired the previous night, and he wondered what else he hadn't seen...

"Holmes?"

"Mm?"

"I know this isn't the exact right time of course, and out of respect you could give things a bit of time, but...you should tell her," John said as he kept an eye on the doorway.

Sherlock's gaze snapped over to him for a moment before returning to the tray of tea and pouring himself a cup as he answered. "I assume you are referring to Miss Hooper. Tell her what, Watson?"

John stared back at him for a moment as he took a sip of his tea. He shifted his eyes for a moment, wondering if he could be hearing Sherlock correctly.

"So, forgive me but, you're still...do you mean to say that you still claim not to care for Miss Hooper?" John said in a low voice while frowning at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at John again as he took a seat. "I never claimed that I do not care for her," he said immediately.

John sighed. "Holmes, you know what I mean. Are you honestly trying to tell me that you don't love that woman, to some degree? Why would you not wish to marry her? I've never seen a woman more perfectly suited for you. Are you concerned about your family's opinion of the match? I know she's not as wealthy as your family, but she's still perfectly respectable. Her father was a well-loved and successful doctor after all!"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I wonder if we know each other at all sometimes, Watson. Do you honestly think my family's opinion would alter the decisions I make about my life?"

"No, no I do not," John said, shaking his head. "But I'm asking because I cannot imagine what else would be holding you back. So what is holding you back?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, closed it, looked uncomfortable, then finally said, "I do not wish to marry. I've told you that before, and I am not sure what other sort of explanation you would need."

"Yes, yes you have told me that before. However, recent events have suggested to me that your feelings on the matter could very well be changing. So am I to understand that you do not deny that you have feelings for her?"

"I...did not say that I have any feeling," he answered with a shifty gaze.

"You don't have to _say_ it, Holmes," John said with a groan. "It is disturbingly obvious to anyone who knows you! Your behavior towards her is so decidedly different from any other lady you've been acquainted with that it is not something that needs saying aloud."

Sherlock and John stared at each other for a moment. John raised his eyebrows in expectation of some sort of answer.

"I...I would not be," he began hesitantly. "That is to say...it surely would not be a happy marriage...for her."

John nodded slowly as he considered Sherlock's words. Not surprising, he supposed. When all was said and done, this was not a case of a man who couldn't fall in love. Sherlock simply did not consider _himself_ to be a candidate for marriage. John took a deep breath and readied himself to begin breaking down his friend's faulty logic...but that was when they both heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and so the conversation naturally came to an end.

Sherlock jumped up and left the room when he saw Miss Hooper walk by the doorway. When he walked out into the hall, she turned and gave him a small smile.

"Oh, hello, I thought perhaps you were still out," she said.

Sherlock took in Molly Hooper's unfamiliar appearance. The simple black frock made her appear paler and smaller than usual. Her hair was very simply done, and didn't frame her face with any decorative curls. The slight sadness her expression wore was her only adornment. Based on all of this, it was a strange time for Sherlock to discover the surprising fact that he found this woman to be...incredibly beautiful.

"I um, just came back a few moments ago," he said as he tried to collect his thoughts.

Molly nodded. "I'm glad you're here. I suppose it gives me the chance to thank you. I'm not sure I did yet. Your family has been so kind, kinder than I could have hoped. I'm very grateful. And thank you especially, Mr. Holmes, for everything you said and did last night." Her voice dropped a bit as she spoke the last words.

"You're welcome," he answered, and quickly added, "It was nothing."

"It was _not_ nothing," she said much more firmly, and looked him right in the eyes. "In the moment, it meant everything...to me."

Sherlock didn't bother to argue. On some level he already knew that was true. "You're leaving then?"

"I am. I can't hide away in a Seaborne guest room forever," she smiled. "And will you be there? For the..."

"Yes of course, I'll be there for the funeral."

Molly nodded and pressed her lips together for a moment. "I'm glad. I'm glad you'll be there, and I think my father would have been as well. I wish I could be there...it will be tomorrow then?"

"Yes, I believe so. Send for me if the coffin doesn't arrive by tonight."

Molly nodded again, and then turned to go. "I sent for the carriage, I'm sure it's waiting by now. Thank you again, Mr. Holmes, and good day."

"Good day, Miss Hooper," he said softly as she disappeared out the door.

She left and Sherlock went to the window, watching her climb into the waiting carriage. He realized it was unlikely that they would meet again terribly soon, at least not in social situations. This was probably for the best, in his estimation. He had almost been out of his depth the previous night, with all that raw emotion. What more could he do for her anyway? He believed this was all he could do.

* * *

"How long will you be gone?" Anthea asked, lounging on a chair in Mycroft's room as he readied himself for Dr. Hooper's funeral.

"At least a couple of hours, I'm sure. We should be back for supper."

"Perhaps when you return, after supper, we could...talk. I wanted to discuss your plans for leaving and...decide what I should do." Anthea got up and approached Mycroft where he stood in front of the mirror, tying his cravat.

Mycroft watched her out of the corner of his eye as she came closer. "I am not sure how much there is to discuss," he answered flatly.

Anthea stepped over beside him and laid her head on his arm. "I'd like to discuss how much I'm likely to miss you if we are separated," she whispered, looking back at him through the mirror's reflection.

He froze for a moment as he looked back at her. "Anthea," he began slowly. "I do wish you would stop waiting for a fairy tale that isn't coming. That is not what this is."

Anthea raised her head from his arm and turned to face her husband, instead of just looking at his reflection. "I'm not asking for a fairy tale, Mycroft. I just want _you._ I _need_ you, more than ever. Why is that difficult for you to understand?"

"Because this is not what I thought marriage would-" he pressed his eyes closed for a moment and stopped himself mid-sentence. He opened his eyes again and looked at her, showing visible emotional restraint. "I need to be going. I think we should save this for a later time."

Anthea forced a small smile after a moment. "Whatever you say, darling. You may come find me in my room when you return." She tore her eyes away from her husband, who had already looked away, and she left the room.

Mycroft looked at the door after it had closed, leaving him alone. He felt like he was slowly imploding inside. It was the most uncomfortable feeling he'd ever experienced. Why couldn't he sit just down at a desk and sign some documents, or sit around a table and argue the latest changes in government, or dictate letters to foreign dignitaries? He could do that, he knew how to do that, and it was what he was good at. But this?

He pressed his eyes closed again for a moment, thinking sadly, _I don't know how to do this._

* * *

It seemed to make an unusually loud thump, which Sherlock felt in the pit of his stomach, when the first shovel full of dirt fell into the hole on top of the coffin that held Nicholas Hooper.

He, John, Mycroft, and a number of other men from the town stood silently as the dirt slowly accumulated. After a few minutes passed, the other men began to trickle away, eventually leaving the members of the Seaborne household by themselves. Sherlock was the one who broke the silence.

"She should be here," he said quietly, as he stared into the ground.

"Who? Miss Hooper?" Mycroft questioned with a frown. He raised a slightly judgmental eyebrow. "Women never attend funerals."

Sherlock's eyes didn't deviate from the where the dead man rested. "She's not just a woman. To him...she was everything."

Mycroft looked at his brother with an expression of interest, and then he straightened up, clearing his throat. "Well, we can't exactly stay here all day. After all...all lives end." But he did follow his brother's line of vision for a moment and added, "May he rest in peace."

The elder Holmes walked away, heading back toward their waiting carriage. John echoed the same words softly, "May he rest in peace," before giving Sherlock a pat on the arm as he followed after Mycroft.

Sherlock was left alone for a moment, and he was glad. He felt like he had things that needed saying, without an audience. Though, once the chance was there, he felt his mouth go dry and couldn't find the words to say much at all. He didn't know how to say goodbye to this unusual man who he knew for so short a time, but who seemed to _see_ him better than many others. The truth was though, Sherlock realized that he needn't say very much of his own goodbyes at all, because he had one very important thing...person...in common with the man who lay six feet below him. What could be more fitting, than for the last words he spoke to Nicholas Hooper to be about _her_?And Sherlock firmly believed that if he could somehow miraculously be heard, there could be nothing more meaningful to the man than this.

"I swear to you," he murmured. "She will be happy."

There was really nothing more to add. It was the one thing he wanted to say most in that moment. Sherlock bowed his head toward the rapidly filling grave, and as he turned and walked away, he realized that in all his life...

He'd never spoken four little words with more sincerity.

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock scribbled a couple of notes down on the sheet music and then picked up his violin to play again. Redbeard napped nearby on the settee by the window, and the rain that pattered on the window was the only accompanying sounds to the music Sherlock made.

There had been a number of rainy days in the week following the death of Dr. Hooper. It was as if the weather had shifted along with the somber mood. Even Redbeard had been less excitable than before. Sherlock had been confined inside for more time than he was accustomed to, and that had led to greater frustration on his part. He wanted something to occupy him, but there was little to choose from, so music had become one of his few diversions lately, though it wasn't as helpful as he wished it was.

She dominated his thoughts.

There was no sense in denying it. He was confused at first, because he hadn't ever experienced much in the way of pity for others. As the days began to pass after Dr. Hooper's death, that was what he thought he must be feeling. He couldn't stop the vague ache deep in his chest every time Molly Hooper came to mind, which was quite often. Naturally, he assumed he was pitying her for the loss of her father, since he knew how much pain it was causing her. But the more time went by, that explanation just didn't make sense to him. It just didn't fit.

This was more than pity. He felt her little hand inside his own, the weight of her head on his shoulder, and the warmth of her body next to his own in that carriage. Pity was a somewhat negative emotion. This wasn't all negative. Yes, he hated that she was suffering, but it wasn't just that. He found himself simply wanting to be there with her, and for her. He pictured the way Mrs. Hudson and Mary had rushed to Molly and wrapped her up in comforting embraces...and he found himself wishing that he could do the same. That was unusual for him. He realized that he wished he could do that sort of thing, not only for her, but because he just _wanted to._

This was what really alerted him to the shift within himself. He'd never craved physical affection, or even been happy to receive it. But he realized that from almost the first contact he'd had with Molly Hooper, he'd not only accepted and enjoyed what they'd shared...but it had also lit a small and slow growing flame that burned for _more._ At this point, he wasn't even sure how much of it had to do with her grief. At times, more frequently as the days went by, his thoughts simply centered on memories of the brief contact that they'd shared. Along with the memories, always came desires lurking close behind.

Sherlock was used to getting his way, and having what he wanted when he wanted it. This wasn't simply because of the fact that he'd always been materially privileged, but also because he didn't care what others thought of him. He didn't care how he appeared in the eyes of society. If he wanted to spend hours experimenting on dead things, so be it. If he felt like keeping bees for a summer, well he just would. If he decided he wanted to spend his life solving crimes, despite the fact that he didn't need to earn a living, he'd spend his life doing just that. But this situation was different. Molly Hooper was different.

This was not an instance where he could simply take what he wanted, without a care. He did care. He cared about her. Clearly he felt something for her, something strong. But there was no way to act on those feelings without hurting the very object of his affection...unless...

It was the very first time he'd ever even remotely considered the possibility of marriage. The first moment the thought occurred to him, he'd immediately pushed it away. But then, slowly, it kept creeping back up on him and burying itself deeper and deeper into his mind. After a while, he found himself beginning to rationalize a life that he'd never in a million years considered for himself. Half the time he cursed his weak body and emotions for forcing this option into the forefront of his mind. But sometimes, sometimes...he found himself actually smiling at the thought of sharing his life with a person that he found so incredibly appealing. Was it really possible that he could have this? Then he'd shake his head and ask himself again how he was even _considering_ this!

There was no doubt he was at war with himself. He didn't know what to do, and he didn't know how to win. In fact, he felt like he was losing either way.

As Sherlock plucked absentmindedly at the strings of his violin, he heard the front door open and someone come walking in. He heard John's voice as he gave his coat to the butler, and then his footsteps began moving swiftly down the hall. Sherlock set his instrument down and went into the hallway to follow after him.

"Watson?" he called after his friend.

John turned as he continued running his hands through his hair, shaking the rain out. "Ah, Holmes, there you are."

"Did you find what I left for you yesterday?"

"Yes, thank you. I read through it. It was exactly what I needed to see. And I do hope it will prove useful today. In fact, I'm a bit late. I should go have a bath drawn. I am supposed to be speaking to your cousin within the hour. I was gone longer than I'd anticipated."

"Where were you?"

"Oh, a little boy fell out of a tree earlier. I had to set his arm and get it in a sling. Thankfully Miss Hooper was willing to accompany me. I needed an extra set of hands."

Sherlock frowned at him. "Miss Hooper? You took her with you?"

"Yes, I did." John frowned back at his friend, questioning his confusion. "I wouldn't normally bother her with such a thing in her current state, but I did need a competent second set of hands. And before you ask, no, you would not have been an acceptable option. He was a scared small boy, and you would have done little to help the situation. Your presence would have been almost as painful as the injury itself."

Sherlock huffed in indignation, despite the fact that he knew John was absolutely correct.

John continued. "It so happens that she was rather grateful. She has little to occupy her time these days, as you can imagine. She's stuck at home, and doesn't have much to distract her from her own sadness, aside from an occasional visitor expressing their sympathies."

Sherlock shifted his gaze and changed the subject. "Miss Adler is due to be arriving later this evening."

"Is she? Well, that will be an interesting addition to the party, won't it?" John had been in the company of Irene Adler only once before. Although he wouldn't call himself a man of science, there was so much chemistry between her and Sherlock that even _he_ could have written up a study on it.

"Interesting indeed," Sherlock said and drew a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, but I really must be going. If all goes well, I do hope that I'll have a happy announcement to make."

Sherlock smiled at his friend. "Go then, Watson...and I wish you all the best."

John nodded and then rushed up the stairs to get himself ready.

Sherlock turned and went back into the drawing room where his violin and a now waking up Redbeard were waiting for him. He picked up his violin, but soon set it down again. His thoughts were once again filled with Molly Hooper. He could see her in his mind's eye assisting John in setting that small boy's arm, and it made him want to see her in person. He could imagine her now, sitting at home, with little to do besides some of the menial hobbies that many ladies occupied themselves with...and he knew she would rather be doing something else.

That was when he began formulating a plan in his mind.

* * *

John made his way to Seaborne's library, carrying with him a rather hefty file of papers. He hoped this would go well...he hoped she would be there! She'd said she would be, and he believed she meant it. He didn't believe she would blatantly avoid him anymore. The worst she could do now was to simply reject him.

But he couldn't think negatively, he reminded himself. He'd thought long and hard about how he wanted to do this, and there was no sense in feeling down before there was any real cause for it.

John pushed open the library door, and to his relief, Mary turned from where she stood by the window. He smiled nervously at her as he crossed the room, and she looked equally on edge. If he could have read her thoughts, he would have known how afraid she was. She was frightened that he didn't want her anymore...frightened that he _did_ want her.

"Thank you for agreeing to let me speak to you again, Miss Morstan," he began.

"You're welcome. I said I would hear what you had to say, and I keep my word. I only hope that you did what you promised as well."

"I told you that I would think, and consider everything, and I want you to know that, yes, and I did just that. I have thought of everything you related to me, and every possibility you presented me with for the future...that and more."

Mary felt a stab in her gut as she observed the way he clutched at this bundle of papers, and the way his gaze had faltered from her own when finishing his sentence. Suddenly she felt uncomfortably unsure about how this conversation was about to go.

John advanced closer and stood by her in front of the large window. In that moment of silence, he could hear the rain hitting the glass next to them. He held up the file in his hand, displaying it for a moment in front of her eyes, before setting it down on a nearby small table.

"Do you know what this is?" John asked her softly,

Mary looked down at the papers and then back up at John. "I can only assume it has something to do with me."

John nodded. "You would be correct. I took advantage of your cousin's influence with Scotland Yard, and was able to get my hands on your husband's murder file...there's a lot of information in here," he said giving the file a little touch with his fingers.

"And...you read it all?" she asked, looking a little ashamed.

John looked into her eyes. "I did, Miss Morstan. I read it all, even though...it was rather difficult."

Mary's face fell. _He realizes now,_ she thought. _He sees what a nightmare I lived, and perhaps he finally understands the fact it could follow him as well._

"There were details I wasn't prepared for, details about you. There was a description of your mental and emotional state on the night your husband died. There was also description of marks on your body, which was evidence of recent abuse."

Mary sucked in a breath and turned away from him, wrapping her arms around her middle protectively. "Please...Dr. Watson, you needn't go on."

John didn't stop talking. "Everything in that file confirmed the things which you told me, and I thought you should know that. As I said though, it was difficult to for me to read it. Everything that happened to you, the troubles of your past, were for you, and you suffered them alone. But in the future..."

At that, he paused and gently wrapped his fingers around her arm, turning her to face him again before going on softly. "It would be my privilege to stand _with you_ in the face of any hardship...no matter the cost."

Mary's eyes filled instantly, and she sniffed back a sob as she tried to form words in reply. "After all you saw, and all you know, you still-"

John lifted his hands to cradle the sides of her face and immediately interrupted her. "It only made me love you more. I love you, Miss Morstan, I do. Please tell me that you feel the same...and that you'll consent to be my wife." He finished his words with a grin that couldn't be stopped from spreading any longer.

Mary then began laughing as well as crying. She sputtered out strings of "yes" amongst the happy tears, and then she grasped one of John's hands on her cheek to pull it to her lips. She pressed a kiss against his palm, holding against her mouth for a few moments. When she released his hand, it only freed her arms so that she could dive forward and wrap them around his neck. John let out a little grunt at the force of her sudden embrace, but he found himself quickly, and happily, adjusting. He soon responded by tightly wrapping his arms around her as well.

She pulled away a moment later though, wiping her eyes and looking at him seriously. "But what about your work? What if you lose patients or your reputation is damaged? Have you considered what you would do?"

John chuckled. "Your cousin has. There's one man who will employ me regardless of my wife's tainted reputation and past!"

Mary smiled, knowing that it was true. And she was also warmed at heart to think that this had been a topic of discussion between the two men...the two men who meant the most to her in the entire world.

As she spoke again, she slipped her fingers into the hair right above his ear, and reveled in the way he shut his eyes and let out an almost inaudible sigh. "So you understand everything now, and you know that anything could happen, including that there are people who could recognize me...bad people. Perhaps they'll know that I might be able to identify them or remember something from the past that could incriminate them. Our life together...could be dangerous," she whispered.

John smiled as he placed a hand on her cheek again. "And yet, here I am," he whispered back.

And with that, no more words were needed between the pair. John happily leaned down to seal their future with a kiss. Despite the fact that their kiss was soft, chaste even, the promise for the future that it expressed...was enough to leave them both breathless.

* * *

"She was already asking after you when she arrived," Lady Holmes said in a disdainful tone. "I happily informed her that you were out with Redbeard."

"Why happily, Mother?" Sherlock asked as he took a seat at the table. "Are you afraid she's somehow dangerous?" he mocked.

"Pray, do not ask me to explain myself," the older woman said with a sigh, and took a sip of her wine. "It is hardly proper."

The conversation hushed though, because they heard the sound of footsteps approaching the dining hall. Mycroft walked in with Anthea on his arm, and entering the room not far behind them was Irene Adler.

Oh yes, Sherlock could see the danger in Irene Adler. He didn't need his mother to explain that to him. She was a woman who commanded the attention of the room simply by entering it. She wasn't just physically beautiful, no. She had intelligence about her that not many women chose to exhibit. The world around them did not value women for their independence and intelligence, but Irene Adler cared nothing for that. She would not be forced into the mold that encased most other women. She lived for herself, and quite happily too. It was those things, more so than her striking appearance, that placed her in Sherlock's high esteem. And it was rather obvious that the road went two ways.

"Mr. Holmes, always a pleasure," she said with a smile as she sauntered over closer. "It's been far too long."

Sherlock gave a small bow. "Has it? I'm flattered."

"I thought perhaps you would come to call this summer, but then I hear that you were all here. I was so pleased when Anthea wrote to me and invited me to join you." She threw a smile to her friend as they all took a seat at the table.

"And now perhaps you will be able to enjoy a wedding with all of us!" Anthea said happily while smiling at the happy couple.

"Oh, surely not!" Lady Holmes said jovially. "We could not possible put together a wedding in less than a fortnight. No doubt Miss Adler cannot...disrupt her normal schedule for longer than that!"

"Yes," she smirked knowingly in Sherlock's direction. "I certainly wouldn't want to disrupt anything."

After dinner, the seven of them filed out of the dining hall, and Irene purposefully lagged behind to walk with Sherlock.

"I am surprised to see you here, Mr. Holmes, and for the whole summer! I suspect you are missing the city, are you not?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I confess I miss the work. I miss the activity, especially in the past week or so. I have come to appreciate...some things about the country though."

"Have you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "How lovely...Anthea tells me you have all made some new friends as well."

"Yes, I suppose so," he admitted.

Irene paused for a moment, then she looked up at him again. "I have also heard that you recently lost one of those new friends...my sympathies."

Sherlock frowned at her. "False sentiment does not become you, Miss Adler...I am not sure genuine sentiment would either."

She chuckled lightly. "There it is, the brutal honestly I remember so well. There are not many like us, are there? And that is why I said it has been far too long, Mr. Holmes." They both stopped as they came to the drawing room door, and Irene looked into his eyes as she added, "I have missed you."

Sherlock felt a little flustered under her intense gaze and breathy words, but there was certainly something missing. It reminded him why he didn't want to linger with the rest of the party tonight. He cleared his throat and answered her.

"Well, fortunately for you, you will be seeing plenty of me in this next two weeks...goodnight, Miss Adler."

"You won't be joining us in the drawing room? Try you luck at a game of cards?"

"Not tonight. There's something else I must take care of in my lab. Do make my apologies to the rest of the party." He bowed his head to her, then he turned away to continue down the hall in the direction of the back staircase.

* * *

Sherlock handed the large wooden box to the butler. "Make sure this is delivered today, please."

"Yes, sir," the man replied.

Sherlock walked back down the hall with Redbeard in tow, bouncing along happily. He went in the library and found his brother sitting along reading a book.

"Hiding away, Mycroft?" Sherlock smirked, and took a seat nearby.

He sighed as he set the book down in his lap and gave Redbeard a couple of obligatory pats on the head. "I have no desire to socialize with Miss Adler. She is Anthea's guest, not mine. The ladies have gone riding and I am able to enjoy some solitude. Best that Anthea keeps her busy anyway. Mummy will surely be driven mad if she finds Miss Adler occupying _somebody else's_ time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am not going to marry Miss Adler. There is no danger of that happening. Miss Adler may be even less agreeable to the institute of marriage than I am."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow. "I didn't think that was possible. Could anybody be less agreeable to it than you?"

Sherlock averted his gaze, not wanting to give away any of the recent and secret thoughts of his heart...but it did get him to thinking. He wondered if his brother may be a useful source of information on this topic.

"People can certainly be full of surprises...you, for instance," Sherlock answered pointedly. "Tell me, brother...why did you marry?"

Mycroft frowned at him for a moment, then he took a long breath as he set his book on the side table. "Why are you asking me this?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I am trying to make sense of the matter. You and I are so similar. Surely there had to be something that induced you to make a decision as extreme as sharing your life with another person."

Mycroft perched his chin on his fingers. "It was the next thing I had to do," he said simply.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Is there some sort of...list?" he asked mockingly.

"You know what I mean," he sneered. "It was expected, and even hoped for by some...Mummy, of course. I am a business man, and it was the next order of business. You are not naive enough to think that marriage is not sometimes little more than business."

"No, I am not. I did think though, knowing you, that perhaps something different moved you to make such an...out of character decision."

Mycroft seemed to become a little uncomfortable. He swallowed hard before replying. "It was another deal to make, another negotiation, another paper to sign...though I do not think everyone views it quite that way. Some have...different expectations."

"Your wife, for instance?" Sherlock questioned.

Mycroft started back at him evenly, not replying, so Sherlock went on.

"And do you...regret that you did this?" he asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

Mycroft drew another slow breath and hesitated a little before actually answering quietly, almost as if his answer was shameful. "I- I do not _mind_ the union. Marriage is not wholly unpleasant."

Sherlock felt a strange surge of relief at his brother's answer, as if it solidified a chance that he wasn't crazy to be considering such a thing...but then Mycroft went on.

"But I do, in a way, regret it." He looked at Sherlock with a somber expression. "I regret it...for her."

As quickly as Sherlock's hopes had been raised, he felt them fall again. His brother wasn't suffering through his daily life, but he knew his wife wasn't happy, and he believed that it was his fault. Did Mycroft have the ability to create a happy marriage and home? Sherlock didn't know. He also didn't know if he himself possessed the ability. Sherlock wondered if he would be willing to take such a chance. Would he put Molly's lifelong happiness at risk when that was really what mattered most to him?

His own selfish desires and feelings were the only thing that kept him motivated to bet against the odds.

"I see," Sherlock said quietly. He was no expert, and had no storehouse of knowledge to offer his brother, but he felt the need to say something in that moment.

As Sherlock stood from his seat, he added, "Well, as you said, you are a business man. Perhaps you should handle things in that fashion."

"And how is that?" Mycroft frowned.

Sherlock smirked at his brother. "Friendly negotiations with your business partner, of course...Good day, Mycroft. I will leave you to enjoy your solitude."

Mycroft was alone again a moment later, but he could no longer enjoy his solitude. He ran a hand across his forehead and wondered exactly how he had reached the point of receiving marriage advice from his unmarried brother. And in a way...he wished it felt as simple as Sherlock made it sound.

* * *

Molly let out a little yelp, winced, and restrained herself from using words that no lady should. She shook her hand a bit, then looked down at her finger...this time she'd actually drawn blood. Just marvelous!

Molly groaned as she took out her handkerchief and dabbed at the little wound on her finger tip. She wasn't usually one for stitching, but being at home so much with little else to occupy her mind left her with few options. She had been incredibly grateful that Dr. Watson needed her assistance the previous day, even more grateful than she'd let on. She may have allowed him to thank her as if she was doing him a favor, but in reality she felt that he was the one deserving of thanks. She'd been home for days with nothing to dwell on except her aching grief and the fact that she missed her father's presence with the same intensity as lungs missing air. She'd picked up a stitching project that had been sitting untouched for many months and begun plugging away at it again in desperation.

After she got her finger to stop bleeding, she picked up the cross stitch again and groaned even louder. She'd gotten blood on the fabric as she'd injured her hand! In pain and irritation, she tossed the project over to the other side of the couch. Molly felt her eyes starting to sting again and her throat tightened up in the all too familiar way. She'd cried more in this past week than she had in the entire course of her life, and frankly she was getting sick of the feeling. Sometimes it came out of nowhere, sometimes she thought of something specific about her father, and sometimes it was something stupid that started the tears rolling...like pricking her finger and ruining the cross stitch she hated anyway. She didn't want to forget her father, or even the things she'd experienced when losing him, but she was tired of the crippling grief...literally, physically tired.

Molly was sitting there trying to hold back another round of tears and simultaneously trying to come up with a book to read in order to occupy her mind, when Mrs. Hart came in.

"Miss, I don't mean to disturb you," she said with concern written on her features as she observed Molly's expression. "I just wanted to inform you that there was a package just delivered."

Molly sat up and sniffed. "Oh it's no trouble, Mrs. Hart. I'll come right away."

Molly followed Mrs. Hart into the back kitchen where the box was now sitting on the long wooden table.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hart." She smiled at the older woman. Mrs. Hart returned the smile and exited the kitchen, leaving her alone with the mystery package.

Molly approached the table and pulled at the thick string that held the top closed. She finally opened the two sides, shedding the first light on its contents. The first thing that she saw inside the box was a familiar object...it was a microscope.

Molly placed her hand over her mouth for a moment as she took in the meaning of this package. She saw the microscope, and the noticed a number of smaller items wrapped in paper, at least a half dozen. She took each out and unwrapped it. Each one turned out to be some sort of item from nature enclosed in a glass dish; insects, unusual flowers or plants, or even some sort of dirt or rock. She laid them all out on the kitchen table, and then removed the beautiful microscope gingerly.

When she set the microscope down, she noticed that there was a paper attached to the dial with some string. She untied it, unfolded the sheet, and began to read the words.

_Dear Miss Hooper,_

_I do not mean to trouble you during this difficult time, and I hope that this delivery arrives to find you well._

_As you can see, I have included a number of items, including one of my microscopes. It is my hope that you would be able to use the microscope to examine the items enclosed. Perhaps you would then be kind enough to sketch whatever you find in your examination. No need to hurry, you may do this at your leisure. It would be a great favor to me though, and I would certainly be in your debt._

_Redbeard sends his sincere regards. As he is currently jumping about my legs while I attempt to compose this note, I can only assume that he is attempting to convey some sort of message to send in his behalf. I feel sure that if he could speak...there would be much that he would say._

_I, on the other hand, do not possess his conversation skills. I have much less to say it seems, so I will close this brief note. Good day to you, Miss Hooper, and perhaps, by chance, we will meet again soon._

_Your Friend,_

_S. Holmes_

A tear slid down Molly's cheek and hit the page that she held. But that was all right, because it was the first tear she'd shed in over a week that wasn't a tear of pain or sadness. These were tears of gratitude, and maybe even a touch of happiness.

"It would be a great favor to me," she whispered to herself while shaking her head and even laughing a little. Even she knew better than that. Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing. He was no fool, and he would never have sent that box if he hadn't known that she needed it. And she did need it ever so much.

She smoothed her fingers over the words and imagined him writing them as Redbeard gave him no peace. The image in her head made her smile again, and she suddenly felt more alive than she had in many days. She touched the signature and was reminded of how true the words _your friend_ were. Sherlock was her friend, he cared for her, and he was trying to help. In that moment, it was more than enough to sustain her.

Oh, how she loved him for it.

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	13. Chapter 13

It looked to Sherlock like there wasn't a presence of wasps or other bees around his honey bees' home. That was a good sign. No honey stealing meant a much better harvest next month. Redbeard played in the grass a little distance away. He had tried to accompany Sherlock once, but had since decided that he liked staying further away from the bees.

Sherlock took off his protective gear as he walked toward his puppy. "Yes, yes, we'll go walking now. You've been patient long enough."

The dog leaped after his master. Sherlock placed his bee keeping apparel in a small shed first, and they began walking. They passed the house again as they went, and Sherlock caught sight of Irene, Mary, and Anthea sitting together, talking and laughing. He tended to think it was best that he keep out of their way. The women were all busily trying to plan John and Mary's wedding for the end of the summer, and that was not far off.

Irene was hardly sentimental, but she proved useful because of her impeccable style. She definitely had the most flawless sense of taste, and the rest of the party decided that they could use her expert opinion in the planning process. Even Lady Holmes wasn't opposed to hearing Irene's thought. She had her complaints about the woman herself, but she wouldn't complain about hosting the most beautiful summer wedding possible. John and Mary hadn't wanted anything large, but Lady Holmes insisted that this was an occasion to be celebrated.

John had been busy lately trying to plan their wedding trip and also settle everything regarding Dr. Hooper's medical practice. The practice needed to be handed over to someone, just as the man had wished, and John needed to make sure that happened by the time he was married. He preferred it to be some time before, since he didn't want to be scrambling too close to the wedding. There were some hopeful candidates already, since John had begun the process a few weeks before Dr. Hooper had actually passed away.

Sherlock walked Redbeard further than he usually did. They went all the way to the rocky edges of the ocean. Redbeard immediately made his way to the water and leapt around in some of the shallow surf. Sherlock picked up a couple of small shells and examined them. One in particular looked interesting as its colors shone in iridescent waves with the sunshine that hit it. Sherlock stuck that one in his waistcoat pocket. He took a seat on a larger rock and closed his eyes for a moment.

Some minutes later, he heard Redbeard barking. He opened his eyes to see the puppy running away down the beach toward an approaching figure. That approaching figure was Molly Hooper.

Sherlock got up and began smiling as he walked toward Molly, who was bent down accepting the excited greeting from Redeard. As he reached her, Molly stood up with her hand raised to block the glare from the sun.

"Mr. Holmes, I was glad to catch sight of you both. Taking a long walk today?"

"We are. Redbeard needed the exercise and I needed the distraction. I was becoming a bit tired of being confined inside." Sherlock paused and shifted his eyes nervously before looking back at her. "You look...well."

Molly nodded and smiled for a moment, still squinting through the sunshine. "I am."

He nodded as well. "I'm glad. And I see that you've been working on the favor I had asked of you." He stated happily.

Molly blushed a little. "Well yes, I suppose I have. How can you tell?"

"Not a challenging deduction, Miss Hooper."

Without thinking, Sherlock reached up and took the hand that Molly was using to shield her eyes from the sun. Molly's jaw dropped a little and she forgot to breathe as he cradled her hand in his much larger one. He took his other index finger and tapped on a couple of tell-tale places on her skin which bore the faded black stains from sketching. He gave her a little smirk as he did this, and Molly smiled back shyly.

Sherlock realized what he'd done in that moment as well, and he questioned the wisdom of having taken her hand. It seemed awfully challenging to let it go now...but he did. He let his hand sink downward, thus causing hers to slip from his palm. A short silence followed before Molly spoke again.

"I can't thank you enough for giving me something to occupy my time. I was a bit...lost."

"Oh?" he asked, as if it wasn't something he was already well aware of.

"I hardly know what to do with myself anymore," she continued as they both began walking a bit, following Redbeard along the rocky beach. "I just, I miss him. I keep thinking I'll turn a corner in the house, and there he'll be. It's almost difficult to grieve his death because I can barely even remember that he's gone. He's always been there, and I don't know how to comprehend the fact that he simply isn't anymore."

They walked silently for a moment before Molly added, "How old were you when your father died?"

Sherlock drew a breath and let it out as he looked at the water to their right. "I was about eight. I wasn't told much at that age. I knew he'd taken ill though. The things I was told came from my brother. He was fifteen at the time. He saw our father before the end...had the talking to about being the man of the family. He obviously took that speech quite seriously," he said with a short laugh.

"That must have been difficult for you...not seeing him before he died," Molly said with a sympathetic expression.

Sherlock shrugged. "We spent limited amounts of time together. He worked in government, similar to the path that Mycroft chose. He was always quite busy with his work, and I was most often with Mrs. Hudson."

"Mrs. Hudson?" Molly frowned. "I thought she was your housekeeper."

"Well naturally she wasn't back then. Mrs. Hudson was the governess throughout our childhood. When I turned eighteen and decided to establish myself in London, I decided to keep her on staff as my housekeeper, and she was good enough to agree to the arrangement. Often times though, she reminds me that she is not in fact my housekeeper, and that she used to clean up after me in a very...different sort of way."

Molly's head fall back as she let out a peal of laughter. She wondered how much more there was to know about this man, and was sure she'd be happy to spend many years learning all she could. There were times recently when she had questioned if he might possible feel the same...

"She seems like a lovely woman. You must have grown rather close."

"She was like another mother to us, though Mycroft was never quite as attached to her. He simply chose to take on the role of another parent." Sherlock's tone was one of annoyance.

"I'm sure he did it because of how much he cares for you."

"My brother may be even less sentimental than I. He makes it a point _not_ to _care._ "

"Hmm," Molly sighed softly. "I'm sure he feels he simply can't handle it. Perhaps unconsciously he knows that if he did care...it would overtake him."

Sherlock's eyes snapped to her profile beside him. He frowned as he considered this. What a theory...and how much it shook him deep inside to realize that the same could probably be said about himself. This woman seemed to possess a form of deductive skill and insight that was somewhat foreign to him.

Sherlock stopped and turned to face her. "I should be getting back to the house with Redbeard. He'll surely want his dinner soon."

"And you'll be wanted at the house as well, I'm sure. I have heard you...have a guest." Molly smiled with the words, but it was a bit forced.

"Miss Irene Adler, yes. She is a guest of my sister in law, and an acquaintance of mine as well. She is...a unique woman."

Sherlock looked away from Molly as he spoke, and her eyes fell down in discouragement as she listened... _Unique._ That was something Molly believed she would never be to him. She thought she was probably about as ordinary as any woman could be.

"I won't keep you then." Molly bent down a gave Redbeard some snuggles and he happily accepted. She stood again and gave Sherlock another smile. "Good day, Mr. Holmes."

Molly began to walk away, but Sherlock called to her, making her turn again. He reached into his pocket to pull something out, and then tossed it to her. Molly was quick to react, and after catching the item, she opened her fingers to find that it was a small and luminous shell.

"Judging from the amount of staining on your hand, I'd say you're at least half way through sketching the items I sent to you. Better add that to the list...we can't have you getting bored." Sherlock's lips curled upward.

He turned and walked away too quickly to see how wide the grin on Molly's face was. After repeated calls, Redbeard finally stopped turning to yap at Molly and followed after his master.

* * *

The walk had done Sherlock good, and he returned to Seaborne feeling invigorated. Redbeard scampered off with the butler who promised to bring him to the kitchen for some food. Sherlock retired to the drawing room, and was pleased to see John sitting alone looking at some papers.

"Ah, Holmes, I'm glad you're here. Come and look at this."

Sherlock took a seat beside his friend and looked at what he held.

"This is the doctor I was telling you about, Dr. Charles. His recommendations are excellent, he's young and healthy, and the date he said he could arrive is in about a week. I wrote back and told him I'd like him to come if he's still interested."

"And what did he say?"

John held up the letter in his hand and smiled. "He'll be here by the end of the week. I have to finalize everything with the rented space in town for him to set up his practice, but besides that, it seems my work is done."

"Well done, Watson." Sherlock smiled. "I'm sure that Miss Hooper will also be pleased to hear that her father's practice will be handed over to a pair of capable hands."

John nodded, and after a pause, he added, "Have you seen her?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Redbeard and I happened to come across her just today on our walk."

"Did you? And is she well?"

"As well as can be expected."

"Well, I had planned to write her and explaining that we would need to call at her home at the end of the week. We will need to get Dr. Charles all of the patient's records. I imagine Miss Hooper may even appreciate an introduction, given that this is the man filling her father's shoes."

"I'm sure she would appreciate such a gesture," Sherlock agreed.

"Perhaps you would accompany us as well?"

"That would be fine, Watson, yes I will come along."

"And...are there any plans to, perhaps soon, have any other sort of...discussion with Miss Hooper?" John asked with raised brows.

Sherlock's eyes shifted slowly to his friend. "That is...still undecided," he answered slowly.

"Holmes, is this perhaps something to do with Dr. Hooper? Do you feel guilty in some way about proposing to her, not knowing if he would have approved."

"That is hardly the issue," Sherlock sighed. "Dr. Hooper as much as asked me to marry his daughter."

John's eyes became saucers. "He what? I- I had no idea. I knew he liked you, but I did not realize he liked you that much."

"I believe I had his blessing before I knew I could care about such a thing. I just cannot say yet whether I will use it." Sherlock looked a little somber.

"Trust me, my friend, do not wait too long. You could end up being sorry. You should speak soon if you care as much as I believe you do. I hope you know that she would say yes." John offered a smile of comfort.

"Hmm," was the only answer John received, and just like that it seemed that Sherlock was not in a conversational mood anymore.

John took the hint and gathered up his papers in order to leave Sherlock alone with his thoughts. He hoped that all of his friends thinking would lead him in the right direction. He would very much like to see that.

* * *

Long after dinner that night, Sherlock sat plucking at his violin strings absentmindedly and staring at the fire. He heard the crackle of the flames, and the soft breathing of Redbeard beside him, and the sound of his violin. At some point he looked up and was a little surprised to see Irene sitting across from him and staring with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"Hello," he said with a tilt of his head. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"A little while. Everyone else has gone off to bed. I was talking with Anthea earlier, but she decided to retire when she heard your brother go upstairs." Irene smirked and raised here eyebrow.

Sherlock frowned at her.

Irene made a face of mock astonishment. "Oh, forgive me, Mr. Holmes! Have I offended you? Perhaps your weeks spent in the country have changed you."

"You are mistaken, Miss Adler. My time spent in the country has nothing to do with the fact that I do not wish to discuss or dwell on what my brother and sister-in-law do upstairs."

Irene laughed. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, you know I'm only teasing. Though I can't help but be a bit concerned about the marriage between your brother and my friend."

"What exactly is your concern?" Sherlock eyed her suspiciously.

"Her happiness of course. I am certainly not one who favors the institute of marriage, but I do wish that those who are silly enough to enter into such an arrangement would at least find some measure of happiness. I question whether that is the case with the elder Mr. Holmes and his wife."

"I believe you know enough about my brother and our family to know that Mycroft is not likely to be a overtly loving and affectionate husband. I think you also know that he would never mistreat her," Sherlock added firmly.

"There is more than one kind of mistreatment, Mr. Holmes. To be denied affection...passion...and to be made to feel unwanted, that is enough to drive a person rather mad. I know I could never survive in such a union!"

"Fortunately for you, you seem to have avoided the risk altogether." Sherlock rolled his eyes covertly as he set his violin down and gave Redbeard some scratches on his head.

"I intend to keep it that way," she said quickly. "I've no need for the arrangement of marriage. I have my own money, and I certainly never have to feel unwanted. No need to be lonely is there?"

"I suppose not," he answered, looking a little more nervous.

"I do hope you remember that my door is always opened. You'll be back in London soon I believe, and I imagine that even you can...get lonely sometimes." Her voice dropped as she spoke.

"I deal well with solitude," he answered with features set firmly.

"Do you?" she asked as she rose from her seat.

Sherlock frowned a little as she walked closer, and even Redbeard's head shot up from where it had been resting.

"Don't be a fool, Mr. Holmes. Everybody needs to feel wanted, feel passion, sometimes. Even you, even me, and even your brother The Ice Man." She stood her ground in front of him, staring him down for a moment.

Finally she turned and went for the door, but she added, "I suppose there's always hope though, isn't there? It is summer after all."

"What does that mean?" Sherlock asked, having to force the words out as his mouth had gone a little dry.

"We all know what happens to ice in the summer, Mr. Holmes." She gave him one more smirk and left the room.

Sherlock looked down at Redbeard as he heard her footsteps ascending the staircase. "Not going to run after her, are you?" he whispered at the puppy.

Redbeard snuggled closer to his master, resting his head and front paws on Sherlock's arm on the couch.

Sherlock chuckled a little as Redbeard shut his eyes again. "No, you wouldn't run after _that_ woman would you?" Sherlock shut his eyes as well, and he ended up sleeping on the couch, with Redbeard at his side.

* * *

The week came to a close, and Sherlock was looking forward to being able to see Molly again. He and John were planning to meet Dr. Charles that morning, since he had arrived the previous night. They had planned to meet him at his new home and practice in the small town, and then take him to the Hooper home and retrieve the files from Dr. Hooper's office.

Sherlock stood at the mirror in the hallway, fussing with his cravat as Redbeard ran up and down the hall which made amusing little skittering noises.

"Need some help?" Mary came down the stairs and smiled as she saw her cousin.

"I'm...fine, really." He sighed and turned away from the mirror, giving up on his appearance. "What about you? Is everything falling into place? Anybody I need to threaten in order for your wedding day to go exactly as planned?"

Mary giggled as she locked her arm into Sherlock's. "You can make sure you're there, and you can smile, and you can dance and enjoy yourself. That is all I ask."

"You mean you don't want to know which of your guests don't care for you quite as much?"

"Oh...well, perhaps you could make a few notes for me."

"Already done." Sherlock smiled slyly at her.

"Do give Miss Hooper my regards today. I wish we could see her more often, but we are so busy, and she is in mourning. It's a shame she won't be able to attend the wedding."

"I'm sure she wishes she could."

"I'm sure _you_ wish she could." Mary elbowed him lightly.

"Don't get carried away," he reprimanded playfully. "Besides, gossip will do nothing for your already less than perfect reputation."

"If gossip irreparably ruined reputations, there would be nobody respectable in all of England!" she said with a laugh.

John came down the hallway and the butler retrieved both men's hats. He also informed the gentlemen that their carriage was waiting outside. John spared a moment to place a kiss on his fiance's hand, then they left to go meet Dr. Charles.

* * *

"I do hope everything went smoothly with his accommodations," John said as the carriage rolled along. "It was awfully fortunate that old hat shop had shut down a month ago. The bedroom on the second floor made it the perfect spot for a live in business. I imagine he's still getting settled, but it is important that we speed this process as much as possible."

"I'm sure he won't mind. He's young and probably eager and willing to get started. He hasn't had enough time to become cynical," Sherlock said as he looked out the window.

When they arrived in the town, Sherlock and John exited the carriage and walked down the road toward the new doctor's medical practice. He almost didn't notice, but as they walked, Sherlock caught the eye of another gentleman walking toward them. It was Mr. James Moriarty.

Moriarty stopped immediately as he caught sight of Sherlock and John. His eyes lit up, he smiled warmly, and bowed his head as he greeted them.

"What a pleasant surprise, gentlemen. I had been hoping to run into you both again while I'm still in town. I trust you're both well."

"We are, thank you," Sherlock answered, but felt instantly on guard as he stood in front of this mysterious man. "And you are well, Mr. Moriarty?"

"I am, yes. Lovely day isn't it? I was just on my way to a meeting with a...colleague." Moriarty flashed a smile as he waved an envelope, indicating that this must have something to do with his meeting.

He only raised the envelope for a split second, but it was enough time for Sherlock's well trained eyes to pick up the initials _S.M._ on the front, and the information was immediately locked away in his mind.

"Well, what a coincidence?" John said with a smile. "We have a similar agenda. It's time to get the new doctor settled in so that he can take over Dr. Hooper's practice."

"Oh yes," Moriarty drawled with a sad look on his face that lacked sincerity. "I heard of Dr. Hooper's passing. What a terrible loss...and his poor daughter. What was her name? Ah yes, Molly. Miss Molly Hooper...I do hope she has somebody to look after her," he said shaking his head.

"She is well looked after by her friends," Sherlock said in a flash, and his expression hardened. "Her safety and well-being can be guaranteed, I assure you."

The corner of Moriarty's lip curled a bit. "Isn't that lovely to hear? What a _safe_ and _warm_ community. Well, I wouldn't want to hold you gentlemen up and make you late."

"And you as well," John agreed. "You need to get to your meeting."

"A pleasure to see you both again. Perhaps we'll meet again soon. Give my best to your family, Mr. Holmes." He gave Sherlock one more slightly disconcerting smile, then tipped his head and continued on his way.

Sherlock and John stood immobile for a moment.

"We did already come to an agreement that we do not trust Mr. Moriarty, correct?" John finally said.

"You are so very correct, Watson." Sherlock emphasized each word carefully as he began walking again.

"Right, good...I just thought it could use repetition, seeing as that was an especially uncomfortable interchange. I can hardly explain it, but that man makes me almost ill to look at." John shivered visibly.

"I'm keeping my eyes open, Watson, believe me. The moment I have anything of substance in my suspicions, I will take action of some sort."

Soon, they arrived at the doctor's new residence, and knocked on the door. John smiled when he saw that the man had already placed a sigh in the window which named his practice. After a few moments and the sound of approaching footsteps, the door opened and the man himself smiled warmly at Sherlock and John.

"Dr. John Watson?" he asked looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Yes, good day to you, I am Dr. Watson," John said smiling back. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person after all the letters."

"Yes, indeed! What a relief to have finally arrived, and to meet you." Dr. Charles glanced at Sherlock as well.

"Oh, forgive me, and this is my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes," John added. "He has been rather vital in keeping the practice running smoothly over the past couple of difficult months."

The man gave Sherlock a bright, almost child-like smile. "Perhaps Dr. Watson has already made my introductions, but it is good to meet you, sir. I am Dr. Tom Charles. Any assistance you have offered is much appreciated by all the residence of the town I am sure. I look forward to taking good care of them now."

Sherlock managed a small, almost amused smile back at the man. "As I guessed...eager and willing. Welcome to your new home, Dr. Charles."

"Thank you very much," he said with a happy nod of his head which made his dark curls bounce a bit. He gestured behind him inside. "I would offer to show you around the place, but I know you've seen it already, and I've hardly begun setting up. I'm sure it would be best to retrieve the patient's information, as you had mentioned before."

"Indeed, why don't we go now, and we can talk more on the way," John offered.

Tom took his hat from the hook behind him and he followed the two men into the road outside. They walked back to the waiting carriage as Tom continued speaking.

"I do hope we will not be much of a bother to Dr. Hooper's family. I would like for them to be as comfortable as possible with my taking over his practice," he said with a concerned expression.

"He only had a family of one, a daughter who survived him. She is still mourning his loss of course, but she is happy to have a qualified doctor take over her father's business. She was a most capable assistant of his in fact," John said.

"His assistant?" Tom asked, looking back at John in wonder. "That is rather unusual is it not?"

"She is not like many women," Sherlock chimed in quickly. "She is _unique_ , in the best sort of way."

"She must feel her father's loss most deeply," Tom said shaking his head.

They all climbed into the carriage, and as it began moving, Tom said with a smile, "I have heard such excellent things about the late Dr. Hooper. He obviously did a wonderful job at caring for his patients, so it would certainly be a privilege to meet his daughter. I would like to offer my sympathies, and of course assure her of my best efforts to follow the path her father began."

Sherlock looked across at Tom, and the poor detective had no way to deduce what this day would mean for him, and how it would change things. He couldn't possible know those things as he casually made his answer to the cheerful young man.

"Well then...meet her, you shall."

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock had always been a mostly internally focused individual. He tended to think mostly about how things would affect _him_ , and about how _he_ felt.

So, as usual, he was focusing on himself as the carriage transported himself and the other two men to the Hooper's home. All he was sure of at this point was the fact that he wanted to be around Molly Hooper. He wanted to see her, he wanted to hear her, and he wanted to be near her...because she made him happy.

Those were his thoughts as they neared her home. He was very much looking forward to seeing her after close to a week's time having passed since they'd met by chance on the beach. It was only the second time he'd seen her since the day after her father's death. He didn't care much about the fact that they were here with Tom...he didn't matter particularly.

The housekeeper greeted them at the door and escorted them into the small sitting room. Sherlock realized that he hadn't been in this room since that night a couple of weeks before. He looked at the couch and remembered way he'd used his fingers to pry Molly's hand off the cushion, then felt her hand squeeze his in return...

Sherlock's thoughts were disturbed as Tom took a seat in that very spot on the couch. Instead, Sherlock strolled slowly about the room with his hands clasped behind his back, unwilling to take a seat himself. John and Tom chatted easily as they all waited for Molly to come in.

"Many congratulation, Dr. Watson!" Tom said happily. "I wish you all the best in your upcoming marriage. Will you stay here after you are married, or will you be living elsewhere?"

John shrugged. "I believe we will spend some time in London, and some in the country. There is reason for us to be in both locations, so I'm sure we will do our best to divide our time throughout the year."

"I was very glad to receive this position for myself, because I would very much like to stay here for quite some time and settle down. It seems a lovely part of country to work, and have a family. I can only hope that such happiness lies in my future," Tom said with a half-smile.

"Surely it does," John said kindly.

"It is, naturally, not the easiest sort of marriage for a woman. To be a doctor's wife, that is. There are not many women who could endure the difficult hours, the responsibility, and even the dangers associated with their husband being in such a profession. You are fortunate, Dr. Watson, that you have made such a match for yourself."

"Yes, I suppose I am. Don't fret though, Dr. Charles. Miss Morstan is certainly not the only woman of her kind, and I am sure that someday you will also find-"

Just then, the door opened and Molly swept in the room, still wiping her hands on the apron she wore over her dark gown. Sherlock turned from where he leaned on the wall near the fire place, and the two men who were seated quickly rose to stand.

Her cheeks were a little pink, and there were a few tendrils of hair that had fallen loose from the way it was loosely pinned at the back of her head. She also had a smudge of something, likely from sketching in Sherlock's estimation, along her jawline. Her eyes met Sherlock's first, and she smiled.

"Hello, forgive me for making you wait. I was just...working on something."

Sherlock smiled back at her, knowing exactly what she had been working on. He stepped forward from where he had been, and stood closer to the other two men. John jumped in to make introductions.

"We won't take up much of your day, Miss Hooper. As arranged, I wanted to stop by and retrieve your father's records for all his patients. And of course, I would like you meet our new doctor. This is Dr. Tom Charles. Dr. Charles, this is Miss Molly Hooper."

It was at that moment that both John and Sherlock actually took the time to look at Tom. A frown quickly began to form on Sherlock's brow.

Tom's jaw had fallen slack and his eyes were wide. Sherlock could even see the man's unsteady breathing from where he stood. Tom finally closed his mouth and seemed to swallow with some difficulty, but he still said nothing. All he was doing was staring at her, staring at Molly.

Molly spoke up. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Charles. Dr. Watson has told me good things. I am sure that you will do an excellent job." She smiled at him warmly.

Tom finally began to form words. "M-Miss Hooper, it is certainly a pleasure to meet you. I am sure that anything you've heard of me is nothing in comparison to your father's impressive reputation. It is clear that this town has suffered the loss of a great doctor, and a great man. And please accept my sincerest sympathies for your personal loss. I was humbled to accept the position, but of course I wish the circumstances were different." He spoke the words with eyes locked onto hers, and an unmistakable tenderness in his tone.

As Tom finished speaking, John covertly turned to Sherlock and made a very telling face. He was met with an expression that was a mix of horror and shock written on the detective's features as he looked back and forth between Tom and Molly.

"That is very kind of you to say, Dr. Charles. I appreciate your concern and care. My father always said that those sorts of qualities are much of what makes an excellent physician, so I am now even more sure that Dr. Watson chose wisely when he invited you here."

Molly caught Sherlock's eye again and Sherlock chose to use that moment to covertly gesture to his cheek in an effort to show her the smudge on her skin. Molly raised her hand to her face and looked embarrassed.

"Forgive me, I believe I am a bit of a mess," she said with a nervous laugh. "I should have examined myself a bit more carefully with a view to making improvements!"

Quick as lightening, Tom reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his handkerchief. "Here you are, Miss Hooper. And please don't trouble yourself on our account. We are the ones intruding on your time. Besides...there is nothing in need of improving from where I stand."

As he handed her the handkerchief, Sherlock absolutely saw the man's fingers graze Molly's, and he came close to snapping. John's eye brows also rose about two full inches when he looked at his friend this time.

"Yes," Sherlock cut in a bit louder than he'd meant to. "As Dr. Charles said, we are taking up your time, Miss Hooper. Surely it would be best if we retrieve the patient's records as quickly as possible, and then make a hasty exit. Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Watson?"

John had to clear his throat a couple of times. "Y-yes, surely we wouldn't want to intrude any longer than necessary."

Molly smiled at all three of them as she finished wiping her cheek. "It's perfectly fine, no need to rush. I'd hate to send you all off so quickly. Wouldn't you like some tea?"

"We couldn't possibly stay and-" Sherlock began

"Oh yes, thank you!" Tom said brightly at the same moment.

Sherlock exchanged another desperate look with John.

Molly frowned in question ever so slightly at Sherlock, but then smiled again at all of them. "I'll just go and ask Mrs. Hart to bring us in some tea then. I'll get the patient's records as well."

Sherlock was not going to be a fool and let this opportunity fall to any other man in the room. "Allow me to assist you with those records, Miss Hooper." Before anyone, including Molly, could say anything else, he had stepped forward and opened the door for them both to exit.

Molly looked a little bewildered at Sherlock's odd behavior, but she left the room with him, assuring the other two gentlemen that they'd be back shortly.

Sherlock marched down the hallway towards Dr. Hooper's office, and ushered them both inside. He began flying about the room rapidly opening doors and drawers, but saying nothing. Molly stood there watching him in confusion.

"Mr. Holmes?" she finally asked.

"Yes? What?" he spat out, whirling around to face her with a somewhat desperate expression.

"I do actually know where my father's records are kept," she said slowly with a smirk on her face. "It's probably not necessary for you to rummage through his cabinets and drawers as if neither of us have ever been here before. In fact, you may be interested to know that I've already organized and set them aside in preparation for Dr. Watson's visit today." Molly gestured to the floor right beside the door where two boxes were sitting.

Sherlock looked back and forth between the boxes and her, and then he cleared his throat. "Yes, uh, that is helpful information. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I just assumed you would like to find them as quickly as possible...since you don't seem to want to stay long." Her expression was a little sad.

Sherlock frowned, realizing he must very well have sounded that way. "What? No! I-I hadn't said that. I just...I simply meant that it would be best if..." He realized that he couldn't exactly explain his reasons for wanting to get _other people_ out of her home as soon as possible. His words trailed off and he looked around the room in embarrassment.

"Never mind...I'll just get these." He walked over and lifted the two boxes in his arms.

He froze for a moment and looked down at Molly who was separated from him only by the two boxes held against his chest. She stared up at him with those big brown eyes, and for a split second he contemplated throwing the boxes out of his arms and-

"Why don't you take those back to the sitting room and I'll just go and see about the tea?" she said, breaking the moment and opening the door again.

"Right, no problem." Sherlock nodded and exited the room after her, heading down the hallway in the opposite direction.

* * *

Two hours, two cups of tea, a good many biscuits, and a long string of medical anecdotes later, the three men were finally ready to leave the Hooper's home. Sherlock was _more_ than ready. He honestly couldn't say he knew what he was planning to do about his growing feelings for Molly, but what he could say with all possible certainty was that he could not stomach watching another man giving her the kind of attention that Tom had been. It was incredibly frustrating to watch.

Molly, of course, was gracious and kind and happily chatted with the man about all sorts of things to do with medicine and her father. John was uncomfortable simply because he knew that Sherlock was so on edge. It wasn't difficult for him to pick up on. The rate at which Sherlock drummed his fingers on the tea cup he held was liable to wear a hole in it.

"We appreciate your hospitality, Miss Hooper," John said as they made their way to the door.

"It was no trouble. I was glad to have you. And I was so pleased to meet you, Dr. Charles. I may not be my father, but if you have any need of more information as you are settling in here, you are more than welcome to ask."

Tom appeared ready to burst as he looked down at her. He smiled widely, eyes gleaming, and took a moment to actually formulate a verbal response.

"You are...too kind, Miss Hooper! And I know that this is a most difficult time for you. If there is anything that I can ever do...naturally, if you aren't feeling well, please send for me."

"I do hope she would have that option, what with your being the new _doctor_ and such," Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he turned his head to roll his eyes our of their line of vision.

John had no trouble hearing him though, and decided to speed their exit. "Why don't we get you back home, Dr. Charles. I know you have much left to do."

"Yes, Dr. Watson, you are right of course," he agreed, then turned back to Molly. "Thank you again, Miss Hooper. I do very much hope that we will meet again soon."

The warmth radiating from Tom's words left Sherlock with a chill running through him. Especially when he watched Molly smile back at the man, and saw her cheeks turn just a little pink.

"Thank you, Dr. Charles. And I hope we meet again as well," she answered him with a smile.

Tom and John went through the door first and Sherlock hung back, still holding the boxes of records in his arms. Molly looked up at him, almost expectantly. She wondered what he came here for if he was only going to act miserable.

"You didn't have to come today if you would rather not have. I'm sure they could have managed," she offered, not sure what else to say.

He sighed a little in frustration. "I wanted to come, Miss Hooper, it was no bother." He knew he wasn't being as convincing as he wished he could be.

"Oh," she said softly, unsure if she believed him. "I did have some of the sketches I had wanted to give you, but it didn't seem the right time. Perhaps another time soon?"

Sherlock was able to manage a genuine smile. "Soon, yes, of course. Perhaps I'll bring Redbeard by for his walk in the next day or two."

"I'd like that. I should like to see him," she said honestly, but left out the part where she expressed how she would be even more thrilled to see Sherlock.

Sherlock gave her one more small smile. "Good day, Miss Hooper."

Molly watched him leave and started thinking again about something that had been bothering her lately. They were now in the beginning of the month of August, and that meant that Sherlock would be gone in a matter of a few weeks. There was very little time left, and it was rapidly running out. He was her friend, and that was certain. But Molly knew, as any woman would in such a situation, that if he walked away now, if he left when summer turned to fall and didn't say what she wished he would...it would be because he simply did not want to say it.

* * *

The three men were silent in the carriage as it carried them along the road, but Tom's smile was so loud that Sherlock could barely hear himself think. Regrettably for Sherlock, it was Tom who broke the silence.

"I- I cannot believe that Miss Hooper is unmarried," he said shaking his head and smiling.

Sherlock kept his eyes focused outside the carriage. His lips rested on his closed fist as his arm leaned on the edge of the window.

"Indeed," John said simply, with a quick smile and a glance at Sherlock. He hoped this would not end with unpleasantness.

"She is one of the smartest women I have ever encountered. I have never known a woman to possess such a perfect grasp of medicine. Why, it felt as if I were simply speaking to another physician!" Tom exclaimed with a little laugh.

"You were right, Mr. Holmes," Tom went on. "She is truly unique. I cannot imagine how other young men haven't managed to see that yet."

John heard Sherlock inhale sharply and exhale slowly. He muttered an "indeed," but didn't turn to look at Tom.

Thankfully, the ride came to a close rather quickly. They got Tom back home, grinning all the way, and finally John and Sherlock were alone again as they began their ride back to Seaborne. There was silence for a while, and Sherlock continued quietly unreadable on the other side of the carriage.

John finally cleared his throat and said, "That went...well...don't you think?" he asked in the most pleasant voice he could manage.

Sherlock turned his head slowly and gave John a dissatisfied glare.

John sighed. "What do you expect me to do, Holmes? Am I supposed to go searching for a new doctor based on whether or not they could be interested in Miss Hooper? You cannot possibly blame this on me."

"I am not blaming you," he said through gritted teeth. "The situation not being your fault does not change the fact that it is hardly pleasant to watch."

John hesitated before speaking his next words. "Holmes, you know...you know that you do not have to be subjected to watching such a thing. You never need witness another man showing her any interest. There is something you could do."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You cannot be suggesting that I propose simply because another man smiled at her! I told you I had not decided!"

John let out a frustrated laugh. "Perhaps I should speak a bit more plainly. I am suggesting that you propose to her, or at least make your feelings clear, because if you don't, _someone else_ very likely will! We both know that Dr. Charles won't simply smile at her forever. He just told us today that he wants to stay here and practice medicine, settle down, and have a family. He will want to see her again, I am sure. He will surely begin to call on her, and it does not take a detective to realize what he would do next."

Sherlock swallowed hard at the facts before him. He knew John was right. Most men were quite different from him. There was little indecision. If they met a woman that appealed to them...why drag their feet and needlessly waste time?

Sherlock began to speak words that seemed difficult to disentangle from his tongue. "She might...what if she were to-"

"She wouldn't," John cut in quickly. "I am sure she would not accept him. Not if _you spoke first._ Do not ignore the evidence that is right in front of you, Holmes. You must be able to see it. Don't you see the way she looks at you? Every time she laughs, she looks at you first. When you speak, it's as if every other person around her disappears. It has been clear to me since the first moment I saw you with her. If she does not love you now, she is very well on her way...foolish woman." He added a smirk.

Sherlock barely offered a smile in return. He turned away from John again and thought about his words carefully. He thought back on all the time he'd spent with Molly Hooper thus far, and all the things that she did. He replayed her words, looks, smiles, laughs, and brief touches. He quickly admitted to himself that he would be a fool to believe she had no feelings for him. That meant that John was correct. It was possible that he had the power to make things go the way he wanted.

The way he wanted.

He knew what he wanted now. The more time passed, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't want to let her go. He wanted the things they'd shared this summer, and more, to go on forever. He was more sure than ever that if he went back to London without her, it would be with an emptiness that he wasn't sure if all the cases in the world could fill. As he imagined that alternative, he didn't want to live like that. He wanted _her._

It seemed rather simple in his head in that moment. If he wanted her, and she felt the same, who cares if Dr. Tom Charles had waltzed into town or not? It made no difference...it shouldn't make any difference at all. Sherlock felt his spirits lifting again after being brought down from the events of the day.

That was when they happened to pass by the way of the church, and Sherlock caught sight of the still rounded bit of earth that permanently housed what physically remained of Molly's father. Sherlock's memory of his standing on that very ground and uttering a solemn promise flashed across his mind's eye.

He had to quickly turn his head away. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying not to think of those memories. He violently pushed those thoughts away, and determined not to torment himself with them. Sherlock couldn't think about those things now. Just then, for some strange reason...he couldn't bear it.

* * *

Anthea neared Mycroft's bedroom and heard him already speaking to someone.

"I would like for all my things to be packed and ready to go in one week's time. I am telling you now so that there is no possibility of delay. If the British government falls short in any way, I do not believe you would want any of the fault to be yours."

"Yes, sir, of course. We will be sure your departure is completely prepared for, you have nothing to worry about," the man servant assured him.

Anthea slowly entered the room, making her presence known.

"Thank you, I am glad to hear it," Mycroft answered the servant after seeing his wife walk in. "You may go now."

The servant bowed and exited the room quickly, leaving husband and wife alone.

After a moment of silence, Anthea stepped forward and spoke. "So...you are going then? You haven't considered staying even another week or two?"

Mycroft looked a little uncomfortable. "I told you I would consider it, Anthea, and I did. But it is simply not possible. I cannot be spared any longer, and it would be irresponsible for me to insist on staying here. I have already taken as long a holiday as is possible for me. I need to return to my life."

"Your life?" Anthea questioned quietly. "Don't you mean your work?"

"No," he answered with head held high in attempted pride. "You heard me correctly, Anthea. I said my life. By now I should think you would understand that my work _is_ my life."

Anthea looked back at him sadly. "I believe I am beginning to understand that, Mycroft, even though it pains me. I suppose it is time for me to accept that you will never see me as I see you. I am learning that although you mean everything to me, I mean a precious little to you. I am not sure that it will ever stop being difficult...but I am prepared to accept it. What else is there for me to do?" She shook her head in disbelief.

Mycroft hesitated a couple of times as he tried to answer her. "Anthea, you are my wife, and we are married. It is in the nature of that arrangement that our mindsets differ. I told you before that I am giving you all that I have in my power to give."

Anthea rekindled a tiny bit of fire back up in her eyes as she looked at him again. "I know you say that, Mycroft. I am also unsure if that is the absolute truth. There are times when I can tell that you let go, just for the briefest of moments...and I see something. I see something that you seem to be hiding from me. I can't understand why you hide it from me, and I wish you wouldn't. I wish with all my heart that you would stop worrying about...whatever it is that worries you! That is as far as I can understand, and I am running out of patience to continue trying to understand you any further. Perhaps that is what you want, and I am giving in. If that is the case, so be it. I am too tired to keep fighting for the both of us...I have need of my own strength."

Anthea cast her eyes downward again and seemed to be fighting off emotion. Mycroft stood a few feet away, statue still, watching her every move and every breath intently. As he anticipated, she wasn't done speaking and finally went on.

"I was waiting to hear whether you were absolutely leaving or not. I seem to have my answer now. Since I have that, I will now tell you what decision I have come to...I will not be returning to London with you."

Anthea paused and looked up at her husband again. If she was not mistaken, there was some badly concealed shock written on his face.

Mycroft took a moment to consider her words before answering with a simple, "I see."

"I suppose I should clarify my decision though. _At this moment_ I am not returning to London with you. If, at any point during this coming week, you decide to _ask me_ to go back with you...I will without fail pack my belongings and leave at your side. If you _want me,_ all you need to do is say it. But if you cannot honestly say that, then I will chase after your affection no longer."

Mycroft continued staring at his wife, wide eyed and stoic. When it seemed she was done speaking, he cleared his throat and managed to make an answer. "I understand," he said softly.

Anthea nodded and let out a sigh. She reminded herself that it was silly to hope that this speech she'd prepared would be all it would take for her husband to suddenly unleash a flood of verbal affection and added apology. She reminded herself that this was the right thing to do, regardless of his reaction. It was the right thing for _her._ No matter what was at stake, she would not be the fool who begged a man for his affections for the rest of her life. It was now time to think of other things.

Anthea straightened up and prepared to take her leave. "I am glad you understand. That was all I had to say. I just...wanted to be clear."

"You were, Anthea...unmistakably clear," he answered her with unreadable features.

_And you are being unmistakably clear right now,_ she thought. Anthea felt a lump forming in her throat. She was beginning to lose her resolve to stay emotionally strong, and knew it was time to retreat.

"Goodnight, Mycroft," she said quickly, and left the room before he could say another word.

The silence in Mycroft's room was deafening, and he was plagued by the uncomfortable pounding of his heart beat. He was left standing alone...and he couldn't help but think that this may be an eerily accurate foreshadowing of his life from here forward.

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	15. Chapter 15

The next day at Seaborne was far from rosy for Sherlock. He was in quite a different state than when he'd left Molly's home the day before.

"What do you mean I'm sick?! I can't be sick!" Sherlock complained, and then promptly sneezed.

"Why exactly can you not be sick?" John asked as he grimaced at Sherlock's sneezing fit. "You are a human being, Holmes. I assure you, you are sick. Just take the next day or two and get some rest. You'll feel much better."

"I cannot just sit here in the house, Watson! I have...things I must see to," Sherlock grumbled, thinking more of a person than of an actual to-do list.

"Not in this state." John shook his head. "Believe me, nobody, and I mean _nobody_ , wants to see you like this. You need to stay home and rest."

"I- I need to walk-" He paused to cough a bit before trying to sound as authoritative as possible. "I need to walk Redbeard."

John frowned. "It so happens that you have an entire staff of servants at your disposal, Holmes. Perhaps this would be an excellent time to make use of them. Just do yourself a favor and get better before you do anything else."

"I can't believe this," Sherlock groaned as he slid further down the pillow and angrily pulled his dressing gown more tightly around himself.

"What exactly were you hoping to see to that was so urgent?" John asked with a smirk.

"I just...do not enjoy being ill. That is all I meant," he said, but was not convincing.

"Trust me, you'll be in a much better state to get _things_ done if you are well and back to your normal self."

Sherlock sighed loudly, and then suddenly his head shot up from where it rested on his pillow. "John, give me my writing set from my desk please," he demanded.

"Oh, right...here you are." John placed the items on Sherlock's lap and watched as he quickly began scribbling away. "As a clarification, I said you were ill and needed to rest at home. I did not in fact say that you have become a cripple and cannot walk to your desk."

Sherlock ignored him and continued writing...

Miss Hooper,

Forgive me, but a slight illness has delayed my agreed upon visit with Redbeard. We will come as soon as we are able. Redbeard is surely more displeased with me than you are. He sends his regards.

Your friend,

S. Holmes

Sherlock waved the page around for a moment to dry the ink, folded it carefully, stuffed it quickly into an envelope, and then wrote 'Miss Molly Hooper' on the front. He shoved it into John's hands. John immediately began to open his mouth when he looked at it.

"Do not," Sherlock cut in instantly, "say a word, Watson! Just take it downstairs and have it sent."

John tried not to smile so broadly. "I'm not saying anything," he answered with a smirk.

Sherlock sank back against his bed again. "Thank you, Watson."

John left the room with the letter in hand and Sherlock was left alone to rest...and oh how he hated resting.

* * *

It took a full two more days for Sherlock to be mostly back to normal. It was a grueling two days for the whole of Seaborne. Mrs. Hudson suffered the most. Though Sherlock was unhappy to be confined due to illness, his poor health also turned him into a great big child. The constant demands on the poor housekeeper were driving her up the wall. Her's was the one with the most excited reaction when she saw him coming down the stairs, fully dressed, two days later.

"Oh thank the Lord!" Mrs. Hudson cried out as she shook her head and stomped past the recovered detective. "I am going to take a nap!"

"What was that all about?" he questioned with a furrowed brow as he walked into the dining room where the rest of the household were sitting.

"Look who's all better and properly dressed," Irene purred from her place at the table. "Though I must say it's not all an improvement. You looked especially fetching when you came downstairs in your dressing gown yesterday."

Lady Holmes let out an obvious huff of disgust from the other end of the table. Irene only continued smiling at Sherlock and looking pleased with herself.

Sherlock did little to acknowledge the comment though. He looked at Irene only briefly as he took a seat, then he spoke to his mother. "You had tea at the Hawkins' estate yesterday, did you not? What a shame I was too ill to attend," he said with an obvious tone of sarcasm.

"I did indeed, and you were sorely missed of course. They sent their regards, and also said that they hope to repeat the occasion with you in attendance. And of course Miss Hawkins was saying how much she was looking forward to attending the upcoming wedding." Lady Holmes beamed at John and Mary.

"I am so very sorry that I won't be able to see the happy day," Irene added. "I was ever so glad, though, to have gone to tea in your place yesterday, Mr. Holmes."

"You went?" Sherlock frowned.

"She certainly did," Lady Holmes answered with a look of discomfort. "It was an...interesting occasion."

"I enjoyed meeting Miss Hawkins," Irene said after she'd sipped her tea. "And I should like to believe that she's all the wiser for the time we spent chatting."

Sherlock chuckled. "I am glad you two were able to become acquainted. I had thought she would enjoy gleaning a bit of your...wisdom."

"Indeed," she smiled. "I believe you could say she is wiser now."

More eye rolling from Lady Holmes and snickering from Mary.

"Are you sure you are feeling all right now, Sherlock?" his mother questioned, happy to change the subject. "We could always call Dr. Charles."

Sherlock made a sour expression. "Why would I call Dr. Charles when my best friend, _a doctor,_ is right here in our household?!"

"It was simply a suggestion!" Lady Holmes said defensively. "I am sure he is happy to become better acquainted with his patients anyway. It sounds as if he is doing well with settling in though. I myself am looking forward to meeting him. He sounds just lovely."

There was a moment of silence, and then Lady Holmes let out a little gasp as she put her tea down and spoke once again, seeming to have remembered something.

"And that has put me in mind of what Lady Hawkins was telling us yesterday! She and Lord Hawkins had met Dr. Charles earlier yesterday in town, and can you guess what he spoke of most?" she asked the table excitedly. "Miss Hooper!"

There was a clatter as Sherlock's utensil hit the plate. Everyone looked at him momentarily as he cleared his throat and retrieved the item. Lady Holmes happily continued.

"Apparently he seemed quite taken with her. Went on and on about how impressed he was when he met her and heard all about her father. Lady Hawkins says she expects a happy announcement in a matter of weeks at most."

John looked down the table nervously at Sherlock and found that you could almost see the steam coming out of his friend's ears.

"It is merely gossip, of course," Mary offered quickly as she also glanced at Sherlock.

"Oh yes ,yes," Lady Holmes admitted reluctantly, but then went on. "But just think! Think how marvelous that would be! The poor girl is well past twenty already, she has little to recommend her, and, until this summer, has had little exposure to society. Along comes Dr. Charles, mere weeks after her father has passed away and left her alone, and he takes a liking to her! I cannot imagine a more perfect match!"

"Can you not?" Sherlock asked through gritted teeth, though he didn't even look up.

"Of course not. Just think of it, he's a kind young man from all accounts I've heard thus far. He is a doctor, just like her father! He is settling right here, where the girl already has a happy and comfortable life. It would be as if she could remain exactly as she has always been, and gain the happiness of a marriage and family of her own. I cannot imagine that many more such offers would present themselves. Oh she is a lovely girl, of course, but the facts being what they are-"

"Yes, thank you, I believe we have a firm grasp of the _facts,_ Mother," Sherlock cut in. "Excuse me, I've got some things I must attend to this morning. I shall return this afternoon."

Sherlock gulped some of his tea, set the cup down, and made his exit from the room.

Lady Holmes looked around at the somewhat uncomfortable looking table of people. "Well...I thought it was a nice bit of news," she said under her breath, and continued eating her breakfast.

* * *

Sherlock marched out of the dining room and outside with Redbeard following happily beside him. Sherlock wasn't quite as happy though. He was currently working on deleting the rubbish that he'd just heard come out of his mother's mouth. That's all it was...rubbish. It was annoying and frustrating, but that was all. He could soon put all such stupid gossip to rest. Those gossiping women would have a very different sort of news to spread around town if he had anything to say about it!

Sherlock decided, especially given the conversation at the breakfast table, to waste no more time in going back to visit Molly. Redbeard was just happy that his master was out and about again, so he very contentedly followed him in whatever direction he went.

As he walked, he thought about all the times he'd seen color rise in Molly's cheeks or the way she would nervously look down at her feet for a moment instead of keeping eye contact, or the way her eyes seemed to get brighter when he smiled at her. The more he thought about these things, the more confident he became. Sherlock decided that he didn't have a care in the world when it came to Tom's interest in Molly. He was sure that there really was no competition if he were to put his mind to it.

As Sherlock neared Molly's home, he felt a strange fluttering in his stomach which he wasn't used to feeling. It was uncomfortable and disturbing. It was something like the feeling of not being able to solve a case...well, not as quickly as he'd like anyway. He tried to shove the emotions aside and ignore them. Surely he would feel better once he saw her.

Sherlock walked up to the front door, but stopped before he could knock. He heard something around the back and went to investigate. Sure enough, as he walked around to the back of the house, there was Molly helping Mrs. Hart in the garden.

Sherlock never needed announce himself anymore when approaching her. Redbeard always seemed to take care of that for him.

Molly turned as she heard the approaching animal behind her, and immediately crouched down and smiling as she accepted his kisses. By the time she looked up, Sherlock had caught up with his dog and reached the garden.

"Good day, Mr. Holmes. I'm so glad to see you both," Molly said with a smile as she stood from greeting the dog.

"And you." Sherlock smiled and bowed his head.

She reached her hand down to where Redbeard was standing on hind legs against her skirt. "I do believe he's getting bigger."

"He is, yes. Still very much acting the part of a puppy though."

"I'll miss that! It'll be sad when he's not small anymore." She smiled down at Redbeard and scratched his head, then she looked back at Sherlock and stammered a bit. "Well, not that - I mean, I'm not sure how long he'll - I mean how long _you'll_ still be here...anyway, I'd miss the puppy stage."

By this time, Molly was rather pink in the cheeks and trying to keep her eyes on the dog. Sherlock smiled at her though, amused at her slight embarrassment.

"I am glad to see you are well," Molly said, quickly changing the subject.

"I am, thank you. Not a moment too soon. Redbeard would have had my head if I'd not been fit to go outside again today."

"Perhaps I would have come after you as well." She gave Sherlock a playful smile that almost made him forget how to breathe.

"Yes, well, I had certainly meant to return sooner than this. I was looking forward to seeing what you've done with the samples I'd sent."

"Right! Well, perhaps we should go inside and I can just get them for you."

Molly walked with Sherlock through the back kitchen door and took him into the little sitting room. "I'll just go and get those sketches. I'll only be a minute."

Sherlock took a few steps around the room and then took a seat on the couch. He looked at the chair that sat empty across from him and had a sudden vivid mental image of Dr. Hooper, just as he had been on that day many weeks ago. It was the day Sherlock learned how much the man really loved his daughter. How the man's words echoed in Sherlock's mind so clearly now...

_I would have let my Molly continue here forever if she wished. If this is the life she loves, I'd never have pushed her out of it...she has always had me, and she has had this profession that I chose...I just want her to be happy and well cared for._

Sherlock felt an odd discomfort creeping in again, and he wished his mouth hadn't gone dry so suddenly. He was relieved of his memories for the moment as the door to the sitting room opened again and Molly came in holding a bunch of papers.

"Here they are. I still have two left that need some work, but I've finished most of them." She took a seat on the couch and held the sketches out as she began to show him.

A smile slowly spread on Sherlock's lips as he examined the sketch of a beetle's antenna, a flower petal, and more. The detail was impeccable, and Sherlock could almost imagine he was looking into the lens of his microscope as he examined the beautiful art.

"These are...perfect," he uttered, as he continued looking at the pages.

"Really?" Molly blushed with pride and happiness. "Well, thank you. I did do my best. Oh, I'm not done with that shell you gave me. And I hope you don't mind, I added another flower petal to the bunch. I started sketching one from the bunch that Dr. Charles brought yesterday."

Sherlock's head shot up and his eyes met hers. "Sorry?"

Molly gestured to the vase on the table which housed the small bouquet of wild flowers. "Yes, he stopped by yesterday and brought them. He said he happened to be going this way." Molly would have been lying if she'd said there was no other reason for her mentioning this.

"Was he?" Sherlock questioned as he gave the poor bouquet a hard glare. "How interesting."

_Interesting that this man is not wasting time_ , was what Sherlock was truly thinking. John was more than correct in his estimation of Tom's interest. Sherlock must have stared menacingly at the vase for too long, because Molly began to get the wrong impression.

"Um, sorry, maybe you weren't interested in any other variations of magnified flower petals," she started nervously.

Sherlock shook himself from his irritated thoughts. "No, no. Forgive me, I became distracted. Do continue with that sketch, it sounds just fine. Those flowers are...fascinating," he said, trying hard to sound genuine in his compliments about flowers that were chosen by another man.

"Oh, good then." Molly smiled again.

Sherlock's mind began to race furiously as he wondered how to proceed from here. He'd been so confident that there was nothing to worry about, and suddenly he didn't even know what to say next. He'd got the sketches...now what? He waited too long, and Molly continued speaking on the current undesirable topic.

"Dr. Charles seems to be settling in nicely, don't you think?"

"Yes I...suppose so," he answered slowly.

"I spoke to a couple of people in town yesterday, and everyone who has met him seems rather pleased. I would never have said such a thing to Dr. Watson, but I was a bit nervous about meeting the new doctor. Please don't tell him, I wouldn't want him to think I didn't trust his judgment!" she added hastily.

"I wouldn't breathe a word," Sherlock said honestly.

"I do trust him, of course. It's just, I'm sure you can understand my concern. To me, nobody measures up to my father. It's hard for me to imagine any other man caring for the health of everyone around us in the way my father did. I can't help feeling that way."

"Naturally," he said softly.

Molly put a smile back on and replaced the expression that had turned a little sad. "I feel better now though. I'm much happier now that I've met Dr. Charles. It's put some of my fears and worries to rest."

Sherlock tried to control the expression he wore as he listened to her speak. He swallowed hard. "I'm glad."

Molly nodded. She reached down and smoothed the top of Redbeard's head, which had popped up from where he was on the floor.

"He does seem...competent," Sherlock added, though he was kicking himself internally. _Change the subject, for God's sake!_

"He does," Molly agreed. "I am glad of that. He is young, but from our conversations, I would say he obviously has a natural aptitude for, and love of, medicine. I like that. That's exactly the sort of thing I was hoping for when I imagined who would best take my father's place. I know that's what he would have wanted."

Sherlock took a deep breath. He readied himself, and began to form words in his mouth which needed to come out. It was time to speak honestly...it was time to tell her.

Unfortunately, Molly spoke first. And she would have hated herself if she'd known the damage she was about to do.

"I think my father would have liked him very much," she said with a soft smile.

Sherlock froze, both physically and mentally. The words that had been on the tip of his tongue fell apart and dissolved quickly. Everything he'd been thinking melted away, and he was left feeling like someone had poured ice water through his veins.

_Yes,_ he thought. _Dr. Hooper would have, wouldn't he? He would have liked him very much. Oh God..._

The fears he'd recently been unconsciously trying to suppress came flooding back into his mind. He was overwhelmed with memories of Dr. Hooper, and the words that he'd spoken about his beloved daughter. He was even filled with memories of his own earnestly spoken words.

_Surely there is a man that could be the making of your daughter's happiness. I don't believe there is any reason for you to doubt it...I do not believe that I am built to be a husband..._

True, Dr. Hooper had disagreed with him that day. The man liked and respected him, that much was certain. But Sherlock considered the simple truth of what Molly had just said, and realized that it changed everything about what he had been planning. Dr. Hooper absolutely would have liked Tom. If he could have considered his daughter's options right now on this day, wasn't it likely that his opinion would be very different? Was there anything Tom lacked that he would have wanted for his daughter?

His mother had been right when she'd spoken this morning. What she'd said had been absolutely accurate, and it left him feeling sick. If ever there was a perfect match for Molly Hooper, someone who could give her the sort of life she already loved, it was Dr. Tom Charles. What Sherlock had done, all those weeks ago, was to ensure that Molly could keep the life she loved. What exactly was he about to do if he spoke honestly? He was about to change everything that her life had been. And when he looked at it from that point of view, he believed that it was incredibly selfish. He wanted her...but had he really thought about what was _best_ for her?

Could he confess his feelings and expect that she would grin and blush as she accepted his proposal of marriage? And would she perhaps sigh contentedly when he finally allowed himself to press his lips to hers? Yes, he believed that is exactly what would happen...and that was why he now believed he should swallow the words he'd wanted to speak.

These thoughts of his progressed at lightning speed, but his pause was still long enough for Molly to look at him with a questioning frown. "Mr. Holmes? Sorry, were you going to say something?"

Sherlock slowly let out the breath he'd been holding in. "No, Miss Hooper," he answered softly. "It was nothing."

"Oh," she smiled, examining his face and seeming unsure. "Sometimes I talk too much. I should learn to keep my words in check before they run wild." She laughed a little.

Sherlock managed a small smile, and hoped it didn't look as sad as it felt on his lips. _I could listen to you talk forever,_ he thought. _I'll surely keep hearing your voice long after we're parted._

Redbeard jumped at his legs and whined a little. He mused that his dog was intuitive enough to be disappointed in the decision he'd just come to. Redbeard had grown to love Molly, too, and he would miss her.

"Thank you for doing this," Sherlock finally said, as he touched the sketches again.

Molly shook her head. "It's been such an enjoyable project, I cannot accept any thanks. I could not have been happier to do it. And as soon as I'm through with the last couple of sketches I'll be sure to get the microscope back to you."

"There's no rush. I've got more at Seaborne."

"I'll be sure to tell you when I've finished the last one. Perhaps you could...come by again?" she asked, and scratched Redbeard's head again in an effort to avoid appearing desperate.

Sherlock gave her a half smile. "Perhaps," he answered softly.

"I hope all is coming along nicely for Dr. Watson's wedding plans. I will be sorry to miss the occasion."

"They will miss your presence," he said honestly. "It's not long now. A bit more than a fortnight. Then they are off on their travels and shall return to London some time later."

Molly nodded. "If I don't see them again, please give them my best wishes for their happiness. I think they will be so happy, and I'm glad they found each other. What a happy end to this summer." Her smile was tainted with some growing, and unspoken, disappointment of her own.

"Mm, happy indeed." Sherlock looked away for a moment and realized that the time for his visit had come to a close. He could stay no longer, for fear his resolve would weaken. He would not give in to this.

"I should continue on and walk Redbeard back to Seaborne," he said as he stood abruptly.

Molly stood as well, looking a little surprised. "Oh, of course. Well, thank you for walking him by this way. I'm glad to have seen you...both of you."

Molly stooped down to give Redbeard some cuddles and scratched behind both his ears just as he liked best.

Sherlock picked up the sketches and bowed his head as Molly stood to face him again. "Good day, Miss Hooper."

With that, he walked quickly past her and left the sitting room. She heard him exit through the front door a moment later. Molly walked over to the window and watched as he secured his hat on his head and called to Redbeard who kept hanging back. The man and his dog soon disappeared around some trees, and she could see them no longer.

Molly didn't move from the window for a few minutes though. She was beginning to come to terms with the fact that her summer was not about to have the same sort of happy end as John's and Mary's. She wondered if she could find happiness anyway. Could she be content with what she had? Or could she learn to be content with something...different than what she really wanted? It was time to begin considering what options were in front of her.

Because one option seemed to be moving further and further away.

* * *

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	16. Chapter 16

"I can't understand what happened, and he won't tell me much. He's in the worst spirits now!" John said to Mary shaking his head.

"You did see him the other day though, when he got back, did you not? Did he actually see Miss Hooper?"

"He did. I know he did. When I asked, he didn't deny it. And besides, I saw the sketches he held. He told me she had been working on them, so he must have gotten them from her. I wish I knew what really happened though..."

* * *

_Sherlock marched into Seaborne and John came rushing out of the sitting room when he saw his friend pass by._

_"Holmes!"_

_He turned, looking at John with an already hardened expression. "Yes?"_

_"You've been out," John said simply, hoping he wouldn't need much prompting._

_"Yes," Sherlock answered impatiently. "You know I had been."_

_"You went to see Miss Hooper then?"_

_Sherlock opened his mouth, but closed it again quickly and looked as though he wished to hurry off. "Forgive me, Watson, is there some sort of point to this conversation? I had planned to change clothes and check on the bees. Is there something specific you wanted?" he asked, almost angrily._

_"Well...not exactly, no. I just hoped to hear how things had gone...with your speaking to Miss Hooper," John asked cautiously._

_"There is nothing to discuss on the subject of Miss Hooper," he spat out._

_John frowned at him and looked confused. "Holmes, what are you talking about? Something must have-"_

_"I'll hear no more of it, Watson!" Sherlock said, at a higher volume now, and with his hand raised to halt John's words._

_John froze and stared back at Sherlock, who looked a little desperate in his estimation. "Holmes, I-"_

_"Do you understand?" Sherlock added quickly. "No more...please."_

_John was silent for a moment as he tried to make sense of this sudden change. "Um...all right, yes, I understand," he finally answered his friend._

_Sherlock gave him a nod of acceptance, and just like that, he was gone. He turned and went swiftly up the staircase with Redbeard in tow..._

* * *

"Do you think that she could have...refused him?" John asked Mary in a hushed voice.

Mary shook her head, but looked troubled. "No, no, I cannot believe she would have. It makes no sense at all. Perhaps he himself decided against marrying?" she offered.

"If you had seen him after the last time we visited her with Dr. Charles, I think you would not believe that to be a possibility. He as much as admitted how he feels about her, and that is no small thing for your cousin, as you well know!"

"Perhaps I'll try to have a word with him," Mary offered.

"I hope you can! He's been expertly avoiding everyone for the past two days."

Their conversation came to a stop at that point because others started filtering into the dining room. Lady Holmes, Mycroft, and Irene came in and took a seat. One of the servants came over and began pouring wine. That was when Mycroft stopped, looked around the table, and voiced a question.

"Where is Anthea? Has anyone seen her?"

Everyone looked at each other, and they all said the same thing. They hadn't seen her since breakfast.

Lady Holmes gestured to the butler by the door. "Could you have one of the lady's maids sent to Anthea's room. Someone needs to fetch her for dinner."

"What about Sherlock?" Mary asked.

"Don't bother with him," Lady Holmes said with a sigh. "He's only going to refuse anyway. That man is even more impossible lately than he usually is. I'm sure he's hiding away in his lab or some such place!"

Everyone sat there sipping their drinks and waiting for Anthea to come downstairs. The server stood patiently with the pot of soup, waiting till he could serve the entire party.

* * *

**Early that Afternoon**

Anthea had spent the remainder of the morning in her room after breakfast. She wasn't in very good spirits. She had hoped Mycroft would come by her room the night before, but he hadn't. He was leaving for London the next day, and with each moment that passed, she was more sure that he would not be speaking up and asking her to come back with him.

There was only one more thing she was considering saying before they parted, but she was very conflicted. On the one hand, this could be her best chance at prying some sort of emotion from him. But on the other hand, she didn't want to have to have to say anything to coax a bit of love out. If there was any chance of feelings inside that husband of hers, she wanted them to come about naturally. She wanted the spark to turn into a flame on it's own, and not because it was being constantly kindled by her.

She decided to feel things out. She'd speak to him one last time, and perhaps if she saw some bit of hope, some sort of light at the end of the tunnel, she would say what weighed on her mind. If not, she would use the opportunity to simply bid him goodbye and perhaps forego the send off the next morning.

Anthea passed a maid on the stairs after she'd left her room. "Excuse me, do you know where Lord Holmes is right now?"

"Yes, Mrs. Holmes. I saw him go into the Library not long ago."

"Thank you, I'll go and find him there." Anthea smiled at the young woman and went her way down the steps.

She took a few deep breaths as she neared the library doorway, trying to get her courage up. But as she got closer, she heard talking and realized that Mycroft was not alone. She stepped closer to the doorway, while staying out of sight, and listened closer. She quickly recognized Irene's voice.

Irene let out a peal of laughter. "Mr. Holmes, you are teasing me now. I think I've hardly got what I want from you yet! We've only barely begun to scratch the surface. You can't possibly think I am so easily satisfied." Her velvety voice echoed slightly in the large library.

Anthea's breathing quickened and she placed a hand over hear heart, trying to still it manually as she continued listening.

"You are the sort of woman who is never completely satisfied, I would imagine." Mycroft said in a hushed voice.

"And your brother was even less accommodating! I'm beginning to think I should have skipped him entirely and gone to you first. _Much_ more productive!" She let out a little chuckle.

Anthea heard her husband sigh. "Honestly, Miss Adler, I cannot think what more I can give you. This matter should be finished. After all, I am leaving tomorrow."

"Ah, you still insist on leaving, do you? Well, as you know, I was to be leaving in the next day or two as well. Perhaps we can make the most of the situation at hand and share a carriage back to London. Why waste the extra space? I should think we could use the time on that long ride to finish what we started here."

Anthea pressed a hand over her mouth, preventing herself from making a sound.

Mycroft paused for a moment before responding. "I will consent to sharing the carriage, provided there be no more talking involved."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, where's the fun in that?" she purred. "I think you will find that I am not very good at keeping quiet."

Anthea held in the sob that almost came out audibly. She felt as if she was going to be sick. The moment she'd heard those last words of Irene's, she fled from the door way, ran down the hall, and out the front door.

She passed a stable hand as she came to a stop at the bottom of the stone steps in front of the estate. She waved to him as she caught her breath and gripped the railing.

"Please...can you, can you fetch my horse?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"Yes, Mrs. Holmes, right away...are you all right?"

Anthea took a breath and tried to smile. She didn't want any questions. She just had to escape. She had to get away, just for a while, at least to think and clear her head. "I- I'm fine, yes. Please just...please fetch my horse."

The boy looked at her for another moment, then ran off to the stables to do as she said. She leaned her back against the cool stone once he was gone and tasted the salty tears as they fell down her cheeks. She sniffled and tried to wipe her face with her hands even as more tears continued to fall.

"Oh, God help me," she whispered to herself and continued sobbing as she clutched her chest, feeling her heart racing. "Please don't let it be true. What is wrong with me? Why can I not be enough?!"

She tried to calm herself down and wipe her face again. The boy would be back any moment with her horse and she couldn't let him see her like this. She couldn't have him rushing off and telling anyone. She needed time to decide what she should do next.

A few minutes later, he came back with her white mare and Anthea quickly got on the horse with his assistance. She mumbled a "thanks," keeping her face down, and sped off. The boy watched for a moment as she rode away, shrugged, then he went back to his chores.

* * *

**Ten Minutes Earlier In the Library**

"Ah, Mr. Holmes, fancy meeting you here," Irene said happily as she walked in and saw Mycroft reading by the window.

"Just enjoying the solitude," he answered curtly, without looking up at her.

"As it happens, I'm pleased to have met you here." She took a seat in the chair opposite him.

"Are you? Heaven knows why," he said, briefly glancing over at her.

She made a face of mock insult. "I'm surprised, Mr. Holmes! We are friends of sorts, are we not? I should like to think you can trust me."

Mycroft set his book down and frowned, looking her over carefully. "What do you want, Miss Adler?"

"I want the truth, Mr. Holmes. I think it's time somebody dragged it out of you...I want to know if you care at all about your wife."

Mycroft shifted in his seat and stared back at her. It took him a moment to actually open his mouth. "Why do you want to know?"

"She is my friend. Am I not allowed to care for the welfare of my friend? Do you believe me to be that cold? Besides, I won't allow you to evade the question for any reason. So I'll ask you again. Do you care for her?"

"I married her, did I not?" he answered quickly.

"I think I realize that," Irene smirked. "I am more interested in how you _feel_ about her now. Do you enjoy her company?"

"Yes," Mycroft answered slowly, looking as if he was already uncomfortable.

"What about when you are alone together? And when I say alone, I'm being indelicate." Irene smiled again with a gleam in her eye.

Mycroft let out a short laugh. "You cannot honestly be asking me such a question. That is none of your business, or anybody else's for that matter!" he said indignantly.

Irene was unfazed by his tone. "I myself cannot understand why everyone shies away from such a topic. It is the most natural thing in the world! And I am simply trying to get to the root of the problem, Mr. Holmes."

"Problem? What problem?"

"Surely there must be some sort of problem, for you to treat her so coldly. But perhaps I will take a step back from my previous question, since it was a bit much for you to handle." She gave him an exaggerated expression of pity. "Do you find your wife to be beautiful?"

Mycroft considered how to respond. He finally took a deep breath and answered at a lower volume, as if afraid to be heard. "Yes, of course I do. Anthea is an exceptionally beautiful woman. I am with her every day, and I am not a blind man."

A smile spread slowly across Irene's lips as she watched him answer. "Ah, so the truth begins to come out. I hope you do not think your brother is the only person who can read between the lines. I think this is the first time I've seen it in your eyes though...you do love her."

Mycroft cleared his throat and looked away for a second. Irene was sure she saw him turn a little pink and this pleased her even more.

"I think now the question would be, why is it that you are so hesitant to show it?" Irene asked as she leaned on the arm of the chair and perched her chin on her fingers.

Mycroft sighed and got up to stand by the window and face away from her. "I do not believe there is any reason for us to continue this conversation. Haven't you already gotten what you want from me?"

Irene let out a peal of laughter. "Mr. Holmes, you are teasing me now. I think I've hardly got everything I want from you! We've only barely begun to scratch the surface. You can't possibly think I am so easily satisfied." Her velvety voice echoed slightly in the large library.

"You are the sort of woman who is never completely satisfied, I would imagine." Mycroft said in a hushed voice.

"And your brother was even less accommodating! I'm beginning to think I should have skipped him entirely and gone to you first. _Much_ more productive!" She let out a little chuckle.

Mycroft sighed. "Honestly, Miss Adler, I cannot think what more I can give you. This matter should be finished. After all, I am leaving tomorrow."

"Ah, you still insist on leaving, do you? Well, as you know, I was to be leaving in the next day or two as well. Perhaps we can make the most of the situation at hand and share a carriage back to London. Why waste the extra space? I should think we could use the time on that long ride to finish what we started here."

Mycroft paused for a moment before responding. "I will consent to sharing the carriage, provided there be no more talking involved."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, where's the fun in that?" she purred. "I think you will find that I am not very good at keeping quiet."

"Perhaps you should be, Miss Adler. It is not a desirable quality for a woman to continually inflict her opinion on other people's affairs," he said in a superior tone.

Irene shrugged. "I am not concerned with that. I have plenty of other desirable qualities. I can spare one or two. I am much more interested in saying what needs to be said. And there is much that needs to be said to you. Perhaps some are not brave enough to speak up...but I am."

Irene stood up and smoothed her skirt as she did so. She looked down at Mycroft, not bothering to hide the judgmental look in her eyes.

"I'll leave you on your own now, Mr. Holmes. Though I can't understand why you feel the need to bask in solitude now. It seems to me you have plenty more laid out in your future...that is, if you continue on this path. Good afternoon." Irene raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a smirk before turning and leaving.

Mycroft tried to ignore what she'd said, but he felt an odd discomfort at her words. He wondered if he really had doomed himself to a married life of solitude. He wondered if he even had the ability to change courses at this stage of the game. Was it too late?

Or was he too much of a coward to do anything but walk away?

* * *

**That Evening**

The butler came back into the dining room and everyone at the table turned their attention toward them.

"Forgive me, Lady Holmes, but Mrs. Holmes is not in her bedroom. I had one of her maids go to fetch her, but she was not to be found."

Mycroft's brow furrowed instantly.

"Well, wherever can she be?" Lady Holmes asked with an exasperated tone. "She cannot be far! Just have someone find her, will you."

"Right away." The butler bowed and exited the room quickly.

"We cannot continue waiting all night," Lady Holmes said and looked to her eldest son.

"Yes, of course. We should eat," he answered quickly, but anyone with eyes could tell that he was a bit unsettled.

Just when everyone had finished up the first course and the second was being served, the butler reappeared.

"Forgive me for disturbing again," the butler began, but this time he seemed a bit nervous. "But we seem to be having a bit of trouble locating Mrs. Holmes."

Mycroft stood up from the table in a flash with his eyes wide. "What do you mean? You have looked all over the house? Have you checked the immediate grounds?"

"We have sir. I did not want to alarm you unless we had checked everywhere."

"Well where could she be?" Mary asked, looking a little worried now.

Mycroft felt his pulse speed up and tried not to show the panic that was rising inside of him. He looked back at the butler sternly.

"Go and check the stables now! Find someone and see if my wife's horse is in its stall." Mycroft walked past the table and went to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

Mycroft turned back at the doorway. The tone of his answer conveyed his worry more so than the actual words did. "I'm going to get Sherlock."

The rest of the four of them sat or stood around the sitting room fire, waiting for either the butler, or the Holmes men to come tell them something more.

"It's getting awfully dark," Mary said, looking out the window. "I cannot imagine she is still out riding. Why wouldn't she have come back?"

"Perhaps she went to visit someone. The Hawkins perhaps?" John offered.

"She isn't that terribly close to Miss Hawkins I believe," Irene said.

"No, I suppose not," Mary said in a discouraged voice. "But there must be some sort of explanation."

Mycroft walked in, with Sherlock behind him.

"I spend a couple of days in my lab and one of you decides to go missing?" Sherlock quipped.

"This is not a joke, Sherlock," Mycroft hissed. "Figure something out!"

His younger brother rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, brother. I'm sure there is a simple enough answer as to where your wife is. None of you have seen her since this morning then?" he asked the rest of them, and they nodded in the affirmative.

"Right...what about her horse?" Sherlock asked Mycroft.

"Someone is checking now."

Just then they heard the door open and the butler came in with one of the stable boys. He made introductions and prompted the young man to speak.

"Um, Mrs. Holmes came outside early this afternoon, sir. She asked for her horse, and I got it for her. She went riding, but hasn't returned."

"And you didn't think to tell anybody?!" Mycroft immediately barked at the boy.

"Mycroft," Mary cut in quickly and put a hand on her cousin's arm. "How would he have known that she was not meant to return much later? Did she seem herself?" Mary asked the boy.

"She seemed, well," the boy began nervously. "Perhaps a bit upset."

Everyone looked at Mycroft. He frowned back at them.

"For God's sake, I told you I hadn't seen her since breakfast!" he answered defensively. "Isn't it possible that this is not my fault?!"

"Unlikely," Mary said under her breath.

"Somebody must have seen her, that is certain," Sherlock stated confidently. He spoke to the butler. "Get the servants together. I want to speak to the staff...all of them! Somebody must know something. Someone saw her or spoke to her. If she left on horseback this afternoon and was upset, it's unlikely that nobody in this house has a clue as to why...besides the obvious fact that she's married to you, Mycroft."

Sherlock marched out of the sitting room and up the stairs as he heard the butler rushing down the hall to gather the staff together. He didn't want his brother's wife to be in any sort of danger of course, but he was glad for a bit of distraction and activity. He had been running out of experiments to come up with in his lab. And he had already spent much longer than he should have in framing the pictures Molly had drawn, and hanging them carefully on the walls...

Sherlock took a brief look around Anthea's bedroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. No notes left waiting, nothing packed, nothing out of place. Though...

Nothing packed meant she was not planning to return to London with Mycroft. That alone could have been upsetting her. Sherlock could see clearly that Mycroft was not giving her the impression that she was very much wanted back in the city. Could she be trying to send some sort of message of desperation?

Sherlock soon came back downstairs and waited in the large entry way while the servants were gathered. He looked over at Mycroft who was pacing back and forth, near to wearing a hole in the floor. The rest of his family looked genuinely nervous as well. He saw Irene look out the window and then look back at him with a pointedly intense gaze. It was now completely dark outside.

Just as the last couple of servants were filtering in the room, Sherlock took the butler aside and said quietly, "When I finish speaking to some of the staff, assemble the best riders and have them prepare their horses. We will likely be riding out on a search tonight."

"Yes, sir," the butler agreed.

Sherlock turned to the crowd of staff and began speaking quickly. "I need you all to tell me which of you saw my brother's wife, Mrs. Holmes, today."

About a dozen people raised their hands.

"The rest of you can go for now...yes, quickly, go! Thank you!" Sherlock said hurrying them off with a wave of his hand. "Now, who of you saw her this afternoon?"

One maid raised her hand. "I brought her afternoon tea to her room."

"And did she say anything to you or act strangely?"

"She said, thank you, and I left," the maid answered nervously.

"Not helpful. Thank you, you can go."

The maid scurried away, and another raised her hand.

"Yes, you spoke to her?" Sherlock gestured for her to speak.

"I did. I saw her on the stairs early this afternoon. She asked me where Lord Holmes was. I told her that I had seen him go to the library. She thanked me and headed down the stairs and in that direction."

Sherlock turned to his brother. "And were you in the library this afternoon?"

"Yes, I was. She never came to see me though. I was there from about noon till half past one."

"If I may, sir," the maid went on. "I believe it was about one when I had directed her to the library."

"I was there at about that time as well. She never came in as far as I am aware," Irene added.

"You were there?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head with a quizzical look on his face. "In the library with Mycroft? Why is that?"

"We were talking. I was trying to help Anthea, as it happens."

Sherlock paused and the wheels began turning in his head. He didn't like the conclusions he was coming to, but at least it would provide some logical answers.

"And whatever you were talking about...is there any possible chance that it could have been _at all_ misinterpreted by a listener?" Sherlock asked pointedly.

"Oh God," Mycroft uttered before Irene could.

"How dare you?" Lady Holmes suddenly stepped forward, immediately glaring daggers at Irene.

"How dare I?" Irene shot back. "You are content to sit back and blissfully ignore the torment of a cold marriage that your daughter in law is enduring at the hands of your son on a daily basis. At least I was trying to do something to help! I may not be looking for a marriage for myself, but I do happen to believe that those who are locked into such an arrangement should be happy together!"

"You could be the ruination of such happiness! Do you care about that?!" Lady Holmes face was beginning to turn beet red.

"Enough! Both of you!" Mycroft bellowed, stepping between them. "There is absolutely nothing going on between myself and Miss Adler and I will waste not a second more on such a ridiculous topic. What I care about is that _my wife is missing!_ She is out there somewhere in the dark with nothing but her horse! She must be found, and she must be found _now!"_

Sherlock stepped forward. "I've already had men readied. Some of the staff should be outside preparing their horses."

Just as Sherlock had spoken those words, the same stable boy who had given Anthea her horse came running back in looking rather breathless.

"Sir, Mrs. Holmes' horse has come back!"

"What? Where is she?!" Mycroft asked desperately.

"Mrs. Holmes was not on the mare, sir. The horse came back on her own. She's a bit spooked too," the boy said, catching his breath.

Mary let out a small gasp and closed one hand over her mouth as she grabbed John's hand with her other.

Mycroft turned and looked at Sherlock with horror written on his features. "Sherlock," he said, and nothing else was needed.

Sherlock could see that his brother was pleading with him, by speaking nothing but his name. A gear was shifted in Sherlock's brain, and he was then very much on the case. He silently vowed to himself that he would find his brother's wife tonight. He could not stomach the idea of Mycroft's heart being ripped in two. He could see it beginning to happen when he looked at him. It was easy to recognize...a bit like looking in a mirror.

"Watson, come with me!" Sherlock yelled over his shoulder, still looking at his brother. "We will ride now, and spread the available men in every direction. But first I want to see the horse."

Sherlock and John started for the door and Mycroft followed behind them.

"I'm coming with you," he said firmly, but Sherlock could pick up on the almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.

"No, you're not. Don't argue with me! You'll stay right where you are. First of all, I can see that you are in no state to ride. And second, you need to be here when she returns. You have no idea if Watson and I will be the ones to find her. She could return long before we do, and you should not be gone when she does."

In a rare moment of contact between the two men, Sherlock leaned forward and clapped a hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "She will be found, Mycroft...I swear it."

Mycroft stared back at him and swallowed hard. He nodded, unable to answer verbally. Sherlock turned and left the front door with John in tow.

Mycroft walked forward and leaned his head on the door that had closed after they'd gone. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his pounding heart and aching head. But all he could see was her.

Everything inside of him screamed rebukes for the constant restraint he'd exercised thus far in his marriage. When faced with the possibility of losing all chance to display anything of his true feelings, he hated himself for ever having held back. He hated himself for having planned to walk away the very next day, leaving her behind, feeling so unwanted. Oh, how he wanted her now. She was _all_ he wanted now. He just wanted his wife back. And if she were never to know that...

 _I'll never forgive myself,_ he though. _If any harm comes to her, I will never forgive myself as long as I live._


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock approached one of the stable hands who was trying to calm Anthea's spooked mare. Her eyes looked wild and Sherlock slowed as he got closer, holding a hand out behind him to indicate that John should stay put.

"Are our horses ready to ride out?" Sherlock asked as he proceeded very slowly forward.

"They are, sir. Sorry, we still haven't calmed her much. Poor thing is awfully frightened," the man said as he smoothed his hand down the side of her neck. The horse was barely tolerating his touches though.

"I understand. But I am going to need to see her hoof. Could you try to lift it for me so I can take a look?"

The man nodded and another one of the stable hands continued to speak soothingly to the animal as the first man very gently reached down and lifted the horse's leg. Sherlock came around behind the man and looked in the hoof. He reached in to pick out some of the dirt that was packed tightly in. Sherlock felt the compact dirt between his fingers and then brushed it off onto the ground.

"Thank you, nicely done," he said to the stable hand. "Bring our horses out now, please. Quickly!"

John followed after Sherlock as he walked out of the stable. "What did you find?"

"Moist dark dirt. She was over a mile out at least. That sort of dirt is not from the fields that are close by. My best guess would be straight out that way." He pointed an arm directly out toward the front of the estate.

"How do you know she's still there?"

"I don't. But she _was_ there, and that's enough to go on for now. Go and speak to the rest of the men, Watson. Tell them to spread out in every direction and to cover at least two miles' distance before coming back. Check ditches, brush, and any water."

"What about the ocean?" John asked.

Sherlock's expression turned grim. "It is only worth their time to search the beach. Beyond that is pointless. There are some places even we cannot find a person."

John nodded with a fearful expression and ran over to the group that was ready to ride out. As he did, the two men's horses were brought over. Sherlock mounted his horse and was handed a lantern by a servant. John came back over to mount his own horse and he told Sherlock that everyone had been given instructions.

"Right. Let's go." Sherlock coaxed his horse to move forward, and he quickly increased speed, knowing that the immediate fields were not the most productive search area. They needed to get some distance.

John followed Sherlock with the little light that they had to work with. It was almost impossible to see anything. They both knew they would have to slow down considerably when it was time to actually search.

Sherlock began to pass the area of dry open fields and enter the greener areas with patches of trees and brush. He slowed his horse and held the lantern out as he and John trotted along, looking into some of the dips in the ground, and brush. They didn't speak much, hoping to pick up on any sort of small noise.

"We're close to a roadway, Watson. Keep an eye out. It's possible she could have been on the road, or trying to get there."

"Do you think it's possible she was...trying to disappear?" John asked as he pulled his horse up next to Sherlock's

"It is remotely possible. Though she took nothing with her. There's also the state of her horse. The circumstances of horse and rider being parted must have been unpleasant enough to spook the animal. I am not sure Anthea's climbing aboard a carriage would have been enough to do that."

"God, I can't imagine what happened."

"Unfortunately I can imagine all sorts of things...but it isn't productive to speculate till we have evidence."

Sherlock came up to where the road was. The ground dipped on either side of the road, creating a trench. As they got closer, Sherlock held the light up again and saw a shadow in the lower area of ground.

"Watson-" he began.

"I see it too," John answered instantly.

They both trotted over quickly and dismounted, running over to investigate. It was difficult to see at first. The fabric was dark, not easily distinguishable from the color of the earth. But as Sherlock approached, his hopes and fears were confirmed. That was a woman lying in the dirt.

John was the one who charged forward more quickly. Sherlock made way for him, holding the lantern up. John crouched down and turned the body gently over. This revealed the grim sight of Anthea's still face. Even Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat. There was some dirt on her face from the ground, but he could also make out bruising and blood, even in the dim light.

"Dear Lord," John breathed out and looked up at Sherlock in horror.

"Is she..." Sherlock began, but found he couldn't even finish the question.

John leaned down closer to Anthea's face and Sherlock saw him press his fingers against her neck. His face shot up and he sighed a little, looking a bit relieved. "She's alive."

Sherlock nodded, releasing the breath he'd been holding in fear as well.

"Let's get her back to the house as quickly as possible. Let me just make sure she doesn't have any serious injuries that would make it more difficult to move her." John began to look her over more carefully.

Sherlock and John both noticed the same things as he did this. Her hair had been pulled down from its pins, there were bruises on her wrists, marks on her neck, and some damage to her gown.

John felt her neck and limbs and finally looked back up at Sherlock. "I believe we can move her safely."

As John began to shift her body for easier lifting, Sherlock examined the ground around the area. He saw footprints in the soft dirt. His eyes darted around trying to get a good picture of who had been here besides them. He concluded there were at least two other men, probably about John's size. They had horses as well, judging by the evidence of the additional hoof marks. He knelt down, seeing something shine a bit. When he picked the item up, it was a single link from the chain of some piece of jewelry.

Sherlock knelt down where John was with Anthea and looked at her neck more closely.

"What is it?" John asked

"Those marks on her neck...I think they were made from whatever necklace she was wearing being ripped off."

"My God," John shook his head. "So this must have been some sort of robbery. Do you think she resisted them? They took the trouble of hurting her rather badly in the process."

"She must have fought them to some degree. Whether she fought first, we cannot say. But they certainly were violent." Sherlock reached down and gestured specifically to the skirt of Anthea's gown which was ripped halfway up the leg, in more than one place.

John looked angry as well as afraid. "I need to get her back to the house, and then I can examine her properly. Hopefully she'll wake soon and she can tell us if she has any idea who did this to her."

Sherlock got a sudden distant look in his eyes. "Watson, I have an idea. I know what she needs right now. She doesn't just need a doctor...she needs another woman."

"You're right, she will. I imagine she won't want Miss Adler's presence at the moment. Perhaps Miss Morstan could-"

"No, I have a better idea." Sherlock said no more, but effortlessly leaned in to scoop Anthea off the ground and walk her over to John's horse. "Get on. I'll help you get her up there with you."

John mounted his horse and they positioned Anthea in front of John with some difficulty. "I've got her...what's your idea?"

"Anthea needs a medically knowledgable woman's presence. I'm going to get Miss Hooper." Sherlock settled on his own horse and turned him in a different direction from John. "You take her carefully back to the house, I'll meet you back there as soon as I can."

John barely had time to agree to this plan before Sherlock took off almost immediately at a gallop. John moved a bit slower for the sake of balance, but began to steadily make his way back the way they had come.

* * *

Sherlock leaped off of his horse and ran to Molly's door. He pounded on the door continually, breathing hard, adrenalin still pumping through his veins. Finally he heard footsteps approaching. Mrs. Hart opened the door, looking up at him in shock.

"Mr. Holmes! It is very late indeed. Is something the matter?" she asked.

"Yes, something is. I need to see-"

"Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock looked past the older woman and saw Molly coming slowly down the stairs. Her hair was down and she was pulling it aside with one hand as she pulled her shawl around her shoulders with the other.

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking alarmed as she got a better glimpse of his face.

"I need you to come with me immediately. Anthea has been injured, and I think she could do with your assistance," he said, looking down at her with wide and fearful eyes as she came closer.

"Anthea? What happened?" Molly asked.

"I can explain more, but I'd like to leave right away. Will you come?"

Molly nodded. "Of course, yes, I'll leave now. Mrs. Hart, get some sleep, don't wait for me." She took her shawl and shoved it into Mrs. Hart's waiting hands.

"Be careful, Miss," the housekeeper admonished.

As Molly hurried out the door with Sherlock, he turned and said to Mrs. Hart. "Be sure to bolt the doors and windows."

"Forgive me, I have only my horse." Sherlock mounted as he spoke and then reached a hand down to help Molly up. She stepped up and sat in front of him, both legs draped over one side of the horse.

"It's fine. I just want to help, I don't mind."

Sherlock took off as fast as he could, given Molly's added presence and position on the horse. As they rode quickly, he explained what had happened thus far, as best he could. By the time they'd reached Seaborne, Molly knew the general circumstances and what sort of state Anthea was in. At that point, her heart rate matched Sherlock's and she was even more terrified than he was.

The two of them rushed through the front door, and for once, neither acknowledged the barking Redbeard who followed at their heels. They both flew up the stairs.

The first thing Sherlock saw was Mycroft leaning against the wall outside Anthea's room. He had his hand over his eyes and his jacket had been discarded on the floor beside his feet. As Sherlock and Molly approached, he looked up and Sherlock was sure he saw red rims around his brother's eyes.

"Is Watson in there with her?" Sherlock asked.

"He is. I saw her, just briefly. She's still...she wasn't...awake yet." Mycroft looked exhausted. "Dr. Watson advised me to wait outside for now."

Molly placed a hand on Mycroft's arm. "I'll take good care of her," she said with a comforting smile. She instantly fell into the role of a caretaker, doing exactly what Sherlock knew she would. She quickly slipped past both men and went into the room, closing the door behind her.

There was silence between the two brothers once they were left alone. Sherlock removed his own jacket, laying it across the railing nearby. He leaned against the wall a little distance away, letting his head rest against the hard surface.

"Thank you." The low spoken words made Sherlock turn briefly again.

Mycroft didn't look at him, but Sherlock didn't need to see his brother's face to detect the sincerity. The tone was one that was rarely heard, from either of them, and it did not go unnoticed by Sherlock. He knew his brother was grateful beyond the expression of words.

"You are welcome," Sherlock answered in a whisper.

Silence settled in again, and very soon both men gave in to fatigue, sinking down to sit on the floor, no longer trusting their own legs.

* * *

John opened the door and both men jumped up from where they sat.

"How is she?" Mycroft demanded, before John had even shut the door.

"She is all right. She is almost fully awake now. We've got her cleaned up and into her night clothes. Miss Hooper is still speaking with her right now." John looked nervous despite the fact that he hadn't reported anything terrible.

"What is it? Is there something else?" Mycroft asked more forcefully.

"She is all right," John repeated. "It seems her injuries were relatively minor. Some bruises and scrapes, but no broken bones or serious injuries. No...other sort of violence."

Mycroft let out a shaky sigh. He was so terrified at the possibility of what could have been done to his wife. "Are you sure?" he asked desperately.

"I am," John said with a small smile. "She was harmed in no way beyond what I described. You have my word...though there is another matter which I believe I should speak to you about."

"What sort of matter?" Mycroft asked, his expression becoming one of worry again.

"It is a...personal matter," John said cautiously. "Would you prefer that your brother leave?"

Surprisingly to Sherlock, Mycroft said, "You may speak freely in front of Sherlock."

John nodded and glanced at Sherlock briefly before looking back at Mycroft. "What I have to tell you is not directly related to your wife's injuries. In fact, if the circumstances were different, I should be quite pleased to be having this conversation...Mrs. Holmes is with child."

Mycroft's jaw fell and he stared at John wide eyed for a moment. He placed his hands on his hips for a moment and took a couple of breaths, pressing his eyes closed. He finally looked back at John and spoke in an only partially controlled voice. "And the child is...unharmed?"

John nodded slowly. "At present, it seems so. But I think I should warn you that there is the possibility of loss in a case such as this. She was handled very roughly indeed. I am sorry to say that one of the first things she experienced was being forcibly pulled down from her mare, landing on the ground."

Mycroft pressed a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes again, cut deeply to hear the details of what Anthea had suffered. "You believe she will lose the child?" he asked quietly.

"It is not clear one way or another. There is no evidence of miscarriage right now, but I also cannot promise there will be none. She has experienced physical trauma, and that is no small thing. I just wanted you to be aware. One way or another...your lives will take quite a turn."

Sherlock stepped forward, taking the opportunity to speak. "Did she tell you who did this?"

"Unfortunately, she said she didn't see their faces clearly. She didn't recognize either of their voices, but she thought they seemed to know who she was."

"I'll need to speak to her," Sherlock said right away.

"No, you won't," John stopped him short. "I want her to do nothing but rest for tonight. You can speak to her in the morning when she's had some sleep."

"I'd like to see her now," Mycroft tried.

John looked a little uncomfortable as he answered. "I'm sorry to tell you that she has specifically said that she will not see you. She also refuses to see Miss Adler."

"I would venture to say my theory behind her unplanned excursion this afternoon has now been proven," Sherlock said ruefully. He looked at his brother and spoke again. "I will speak to her, Mycroft. I'll explain."

Mycroft looked only marginally comforted.

John put a hand on Mycroft's arm. "Let me give you something to help you sleep. You need rest as well. You'll be no good to your wife if you can barely stand up."

Mycroft walked off with John, looking as if he was also barely able to put one foot in front of the other. John escorted him into his own room, leaving Sherlock alone in the hallway. He stayed there though, waiting...

Not too much later, Molly came out holding a basin of dirty looking wash water and a rag. Her eyes looked tired when they met Sherlock's, and she even looked like she may have been crying.

Sherlock stepped forward as Molly closed the door behind her. "Is everything all right?"

Molly nodded. "I feel she will be fine, but it is awfully difficult to see her suffer right now. Mr. Holmes, I know this is none of my affair, and you can certainly tell me I'm rude to ask but...why was Mrs. Holmes so upset at the idea of seeing either Lord Holmes or Miss Adler?"

"It is a long and complicated tale to tell, but the general idea is that Mrs. Holmes was a bit hasty to judge a conversation she overheard earlier today. At least, that is my current theory. I will speak to her tomorrow and clear up any misunderstanding, in addition to questioning her in the hopes that I can get what is needed to find these criminals." Sherlock ran a hand over his eyes, suddenly beginning to feel the effects of the long night.

"Have you any ideas about who could have done such a thing? I cannot ever recall something so awful happening around here. It seems more likely to be someone passing through on the main road that she happened upon. Perhaps they have no connection to the town or anyone in it."

"Perhaps. Either way, I hope to find them. And I am sure my brother will expect no less. He'll be seeing red till they're caught and brought to justice."

There was an awkward silence as he finished speaking and Molly finally smiled and looked at the basin she was continuing to balance in her arms.

"Well, I'd better get this taken care of."

"You needn't do that. Just set it there, by the door. I'll have a servant fetch it."

Molly set the basin down and stood again. "Thank you. I suppose I should be going now. Perhaps I'll be able to get a bit of rest before the sun comes up."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Why don't you come downstairs and I'll call for the carriage to take you home."

Not long after, when Molly was ready to leave in the Holmes carriage, Sherlock stood with her at the door and prepared to say goodnight. It was becoming more and more unpleasant to say goodbye to her. Every time he said it, it felt a bit weightier, and more final. He felt like he lost a little bit more of her every time they parted. No matter what he'd decided was for the best, it still hurt.

"You did us a great service tonight, Miss Hooper. We are all very grateful," he said softly.

Molly smiled up at him. "It was not very long ago that you stayed by my side on one of the most trying nights of my life. How could I do any less for you and your family? I am only glad that I could do something to help. I do hope she will recover quickly. And please do not hesitate to call for me again if she needs...any other sort of assistance." Molly's expression fell a bit, knowing that if she was needed again, it could be for rather sad reasons.

"I will surely call for you if she is in need of any more care. Good night, Miss Hooper." His eyes lingered on hers for a moment, but he pulled them away as quickly as he could. The disconnection of their eyes seemed to allow Molly to finally turn and open the door.

"Good night, Mr. Holmes." She smiled at him one more time, and disappeared behind the door.

Sherlock hurried upstairs immediately. He knew he needed a bit of rest if he was to begin more work tomorrow. His brother still needed him very much...and he very much needed the distraction.

* * *

"Thank you, Miss Adler," Sherlock said as they walked back inside after having a stroll outside. "This will surely help. I just wanted to be sure I had absolutely all the available details."

"I am glad you understand that I wanted to help, Mr. Holmes. I feel that some in this house are looking at me as if I were the one who had beaten Anthea at the side of the road!"

"I think I know you a bit better than that." Sherlock gave her a sideways smile.

"Would you tell me after you've spoken to her? I should like to see her before I go. I hate to leave while she's still thinking the absolute worst of me. I have many faults, but seducing Lord Holmes is hardly one of them!" Irene made a grimace of disgust.

Sherlock let out a laugh at her expression. "That would be a fault indeed...and yes, I will tell you when I have adequately cleared you name. As much as I can clear it, that is. I am a detective, not a miracle worker."

Irene smacked his arm, making him laugh again.

"As for the younger Holmes though, I cannot say the same." She gave him a flirtatious smile. She went on as he turned to face her. "I am leaving today, but I do hope we will meet again soon. I meant what I said before. My door is always open. I hope you will visit when we are both back in London. Even a great detective can get lonely."

Sherlock pressed his lips together. She was right, he could get lonely. He had learned that especially clearly this summer. He could get lonely, and suffer loss, and want what he couldn't have. Irene, on the other hand...he could have. And yet, he knew he could never give in to her. It wasn't the same. It wasn't what he really wanted. He wasn't remaining a bachelor because he wanted to. It was because he refused to settle for anything less than the woman he loved.

"Forgive me, Miss Adler. You are my friend, but I feel the need to be perfectly frank in telling you...that we can never be more," he said softly.

Irene let out a slow sigh as she looked back at him. "Well, it was worth one more try, was it not? I do wish you happiness, Mr. Holmes."

"You as well, Miss Adler," he said with a fond smile.

After one more lingering glance from Irene, the two of them parted in the entry way, and Sherlock went upstairs to speak with his sister in law.

* * *

"Do you...believe me?" Sherlock asked, looking at her evenly.

Anthea swallowed and looked at her hands in her lap for a moment. She ran her fingers along the bruises on her wrists for a second, before looking back at Sherlock.

"I do, yes. In fact I feel a bit foolish now. Seems I did not consider all the evidence," she said sheepishly.

Sherlock shrugged. "Do not berate yourself. I am constantly surrounded by people who do not consider all the evidence...you are hardly the worst." He gave her a half smile.

Anthea smiled back at him. "Thank you...for everything. And I also hope that what little I remembered is enough to help you in your search."

"I need very little," he said proudly. "Leave it to me. I will do all I can."

As Sherlock got up to leave, Anthea added one more thing. "Um, could you do something for me? I was wondering if you would be kind enough to send Miss Adler up. I think I would like to see her now."

Sherlock smiled. "I thought you might. She will be glad to hear it. I'll send her along." He tipped his head briefly, and then left her room.

* * *

That evening, a very glum looking Mycroft sat in the drawing room with his mother, brother, and John.

"Honestly, Mycroft, if you poke at that fire one more time!" Lady Holmes groaned.

Mycroft set the metal poker down with a clang and sunk into a chair. Just as he'd sat down though, Mary came into the room. All their eyes shot over to her, but she looked back at only Mycroft.

"Somebody wants to see you," Mary said to her cousin, and smiled.

Mycroft was frozen for a moment before he stood slowly, making his way to the door. He was as relieved as he was terrified to make his way upstairs.

Mycroft knocked lightly on his wife's door and she called for him to enter. He looked at her nervously as he took a seat next to her bed. She looked a bit worse than she had the day before, which John had told him would be expected of the bruising for a while. But to him, she still looked like some sort of angel propped against the pillows of her bed.

Anthea played with some of the hair at the end of her braid, apparently drawing her own conclusions about the way he was looking at her. "I must look a fright." She laughed a little.

Mycroft shook his head. "No, not at all. How are you feeling?"

She shrugged. "I am sore, and awfully tired, but I suppose I could feel much worse. No...new symptoms today."

Mycroft's eyes widened a bit. "Really? No change is...good...is it not?"

Anthea smiled shyly. "It is a good sign, yes...I am sorry, Mycroft. I should have told you about the baby. I should have told you sooner. And now you were not able to leave for London on time. I am sorry for that as well. I was not thinking clearly. I rushed to judge, and I was wrong. I worried everyone, and could have gotten myself killed. I am so sorry." She looked down, pressing her lips together.

"Anthea," he began slowly. "Please include no more apologies in this conversation. I cannot bear it. I am the one who should be apologizing...for untold numbers of things."

Anthea sniffed and looked back at him, surprised at the emotion evident in his own eyes. "This is not your fault," she said sincerely.

Mycroft shook his head and chuckled ruefully. "Oh, Anthea, of course this is my fault. This never would have happened if I had been...if from the start I-" he had to stop to take a breath. It was difficult to be honest like this. He had been afraid of it, and how it would change things. But he knew it was long past time to overcome such things...and simply give in.

Anthea reached over and touched her fingers to his hand. He extended his arm slowly, and finally intertwined his fingers with hers. He looked at her smaller hand in his as he began talking again.

"Do you know what I thought when I first saw you? All I could think was that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I knew I was expected to marry, and that I should have done so before then. In my mind I was simply making another business deal, but it was hardly a business like decision when I singled you out. In truth, it was an indulgence to ask you. I tried to ignore my feelings at the time. I believed that I could marry you, and go on living my life, changing nothing. It scared me half to death when I realized that wasn't so simple."

Anthea held her breath as she listened to him talk and watched him stare at their clasped hands.

"I thought about you...constantly. When I was away from you and working, you were still in my head. I thought about when I would next see you, and hear your voice. I learned very quickly how strong the bond between husband and wife can be. But...I didn't think I wanted that. I believed it would be detrimental to my work. I felt I shouldn't be so easily distracted and compromised by sentiment. I concluded that the best policy was distance, both physical and emotional. So I...restricted myself. I did not seek out your company. I limited the time we spent alone together." At that moment, he raised his head and met her eye again. "But it never got easier."

Anthea took shaky breaths as she looked back at her husband and tried not to start crying.

"I counted the days and hours till I would allow myself to touch you again," he whispered and shook his head slowly. "And it was never enough. If I had been honest with myself, I was just as distracted by distancing us. Naturally, I was especially concerned about this summer with no work to occupy my mind and fill my time. You did not make things easier. You have been rather persistent haven't you?"

Anthea let out a shaky laugh as the corner of Mycroft's lip curled up. "I could not help it. I was far more compromised by sentiment that you." Her voice shook and a tear finally made its way out.

Mycroft shook his head. "No, my dear. I was as well. I was just fool enough to try and fight it. I didn't know how to give in. I was afraid to give in. But when I thought I might lose you...all I wanted was a chance to go back in time. I was afraid you might never know," he said sadly.

Anthea wiped tears away and squeezed his hand harder. "I know now," she whispered. "And you don't have to be afraid of anything. We have each other, no matter what else happens. That doesn't have to change. There will always be life, and your work, and a world of people, both bad and good, around us. But that doesn't mean that we can't have this. You can still have this. In fact it's already yours...you just have to take it."

Their eyes stayed locked together as Mycroft rose from the chair. He moved over and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Anthea sat up from off the pillows and leaned forward to meet the hug her husband initiated. She clung to him, breathing in his scent and pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Forgive me," he whispered into her hair. "I do not deserve what you give me."

Anthea moved away from his shoulder to press a kiss to his lips. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "Yes you do. I always believed you did, but tonight...you've finally proven me right." She smiled, making her eyes sparkle in the candle and moon lit room.

To her surprise, he leaned forward again, kissing her harder and with more passion than the kiss she'd just given him. Anthea sighed softly and wrapped her arms around his neck. But he pulled away a moment later, breathing rapidly.

"Forgive me, you are not well."

Anthea laughed. "I have never felt so well as I do right now, darling! Injuries and all!"

Mycroft smiled, but didn't kiss her again. He knew this wasn't the time. There would be plenty of other times. He felt a renewed warmth at the idea that they had the rest of their lives together. He reached his hand down and pressed it against her nightgown over the slight swell of her abdomen.

"How long?" he asked, moving his fingers slightly.

"Somewhere between two and three months. That is what I had believed, and Dr. Watson agreed. I am so very happy now, Mycroft. I was already happy, but I was afraid to share it with you. Now that I know you want this, you want us...I want us to have this baby more than ever." Anthea's lip began to quiver a little and she was reminded that this baby's life could still be hanging in the balance.

Mycroft could offer no words of wisdom. He knew that he could promise nothing. It was something that neither of them could control or change, no matter how much they wanted to.

"I know," he said softly, wiping the tears off her face. "I want that too."

Without another word, he kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket. He climbed onto the bed and reclined next to his wife, encircling her with his arms. She rested on his chest and cried a little. But after she'd calmed, Mycroft stayed. He stayed there holding her, and both eventually fell asleep. It was a deep and restful sleep. Because whatever had been, and whatever was to come...

They had this.

* * *

"I do hope they are able to set things right," Lady Holmes sighed as she tried to work at her needle point in the fading light.

"I think they will," Mary said with a smile at John.

Sherlock stared blankly into the fire, wondering how it was possible that the tables had so quickly turned. One moment, his brother seemed to care nothing for his own marriage and he himself had been on the brink of proposing to Miss Hooper. And the next, his brother cared for nothing _but_ his wife, while Sherlock sat contemplating his long and very single life looming ahead...

They all turned at the sound of a knock on the door.

"For heaven's sake! Who could that be? It is near eight, and I am not sure I can handle one more shock!" Lady Holmes set her project down, looking a little flustered.

A minute later, the butler came in with a man who looked to be a servant, but was not one of their own.

"This is Mr. Danvers. He comes from the Hawkins house. He would like to speak to Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stood and walked over. "Yes, what is it?"

"First of all, the Hawkins family sends their best wishes for Mrs. Anthea Holmes' recovery. Those searching for her had stopped by the estate last night and we were glad to hear today that she'd been found."

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said in a tone that added the unspoken words, _get on with it._

"Lord Hawkins doesn't like to bother you in this difficult time, but he has already gone to the authorities and they feel there is not much to go on, so he wanted to come to you for help in this matter...it seems that the household has been robbed."

Sherlock frowned. "Robbed? When? And what was taken?"

"There were some small expensive decorative items from the sitting room, and some of Lady and Miss Hawkins jewels. It must have all been done within the past few days. What is especially of note, is that when this was discovered and the entire staff was called out for questioning, one kitchen hand was missing. He has not been found since."

Sherlock chuckled lightly. "Is this supposed to be some sort of mystery, Mr. Danvers? The missing servant is likely your culprit."

"Agreed, sir. But the authorities feel there is little hope to find him now. They searched and he cannot be found anywhere in town. He could be anywhere, but Lord Hawkins hoped you might be more creative."

"Right. What is his name?"

"He was hired only about a month ago. His name is Sebastian Moran."

Mary stood up. "I know that name!" She looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Sherlock, I know that name. I remember Robert speaking it often."

Sherlock's eyes began to dart back and forth in mental calculations. "I feel I know it too...in some way," he muttered, mostly to himself. _Sebastian Moran, Sebastian Moran, Sebastian Moran..._ "What is familiar about it?"

He walked around the sitting room for a moment as everyone stared at him. He thought and thought and threw symbolic papers around his mind palace in search for something that made a red flag pop up at the sound of that man's name. _Mary knew it...if Mary knew it, that meant that the connection could be...no, it's not the name that's familiar...it's the letters! The letters S.M. which I saw not long ago...letters on an envelope..._

Sherlock turned to look at them all with revelation evidenced on his face. He spoke, or more like growled, only one word.

"Moriarty."


	18. Chapter 18

For the second night in a row, Sherlock galloped through the darkness. The moment he had figured things out, he'd left Seaborne and taken his horse to ride into town. John insisted on coming with him. Sherlock had to agree that if he was about to go after a criminal as evil as he suspected, it couldn't hurt to have a bit of help. He didn't have high hopes of catching the man tonight though. So he wasn't surprised to discover what he did when they reached the inn.

After Sherlock pounded on the innkeeper's door for an extended period of time, the man finally unbolted the door and opened it, staring out at Sherlock with sleepy eyes.

"Mr. Holmes?" the man questioned.

"Yes, I am looking for a guest of yours. I need to find Mr. James Moriarty."

The man's expression perked up. "Well, what do you know? He was right after all...come in."

Sherlock frowned at John and they both entered the inn, following the man to his front desk. He set his lantern on the wooden surface, unlocked a drawer, and took out a sealed envelope.

"Mr. Moriarty checked out late yesterday. But when he left, he handed me this envelope and told me 'if Mr. Sherlock Holmes comes looking for me, I want you to give him this.' He didn't explain anything further. I thought it odd, and was beginning to wonder if I should seek you out and give it to you anyway. But here you are! Just as he said."

Sherlock took the envelope from the man's hand and peered at his own name scribbled neatly on the front before turning it over, opening it, and pulling the letter out.

_Mr. Holmes,_

_Finally figured it out did you? Took you long enough. I believe all these weeks in the country have dulled your senses. That's what you'll become if you're not careful...dull. I bet it took you a full day to come looking for me! I suppose I have to take what little I can get. You are still, by far, the most fun. I've enjoyed watching you from afar...and your family too._

_Such a shame about your sister-in-law. I do hope the baby will be all right. And how is your big brother? I hope his heartbreak won't be enough to compromise his work in the government. That would be such a sad loss...pitiful, the both of you. You could do such marvelous things if you could only shut off that stupid heart and use your brain more._

_I expect you'll be trying to find me now. You will certainly need to use your brain for that. I'm not an easy man to catch. And just think, all those weeks, I was right under your nose! Poor Mr. Holmes. Been a bit distracted by other things I imagine._

_I'll be off now. I've gotten what I wanted out of this little town...I'm hardly through with you though. I think our fun has only just begun. Until next time, Mr. Holmes!_

_J. Moriarty_

Sherlock sighed as he finished reading. John had been reading over his shoulder, and was the one to speak to the innkeeper next.

"Did Mr. Moriarty give any indication of where he was going?"

"No, none at all. Forgive me, if I'd known you would want to find him I would have asked where he was off to."

"No matter. He would not have told you anyway," Sherlock said as he stuffed the letter back into the envelope. "At least this is what I needed to confirm my suspicions. He clearly likes to play games. Apparently he considers me a worthy opponent. And he has just made the first move."

At that, Sherlock turned and left he inn without another word. John was left to thank the innkeeper and apologize for the bother of waking him. Then he ran after Sherlock and had to quickly mount his horse to catch up.

"What are we going to do?" John asked.

"I'll send out word. I'll send word to London and every other notable contact I have in the far corners of England. I want everyone on alert. I will have to search for him...and soon. And tomorrow, I will also have to detail all of this to my brother."

"Should we call off the wedding for now?"

"No. It's only a week away. I have no idea where he could have gone. I can't go running off this instant. I need something to go on. Some sort of evidence of where he might be. Till I get that, I may as well stay here and plan my steps carefully."

"But will you need me to come with you?" John asked, and Sherlock could hear the sincerity in his friend's offer.

"No, Watson. You'll not disrupt your entire life for this. I will handle it. I missed something all these weeks, and it almost cost us two lives. I will fix this. And when all is said and done, the world will be a safer place for you and your family...for our family." He gave John a quick smile.

John looked at Sherlock with concern after he'd already turned away. He was taking it all upon his own shoulders, which was not uncommon. The sentiment behind it was endearing, but John wondered if he was also trying to fill a hole. Perhaps there was an emptiness inside his friend which he imagined could be filled with the hunting of a dangerous criminal. But John was very sure that when all was said and done, their family may be safer...but the emptiness in Sherlock would remain.

They returned to Seaborne and the house was almost completely dark. John went right upstairs to bed, but Sherlock trudged down to his lab.

He lit a solitary lamp and set it on his table. Redbeard wound back and forth around his legs, seeming a bit nervous. Sherlock took a moment to crouch down and give him some much needed attention. The poor thing was obviously a bit nerved up from all the commotion in the past day or so. Sherlock accepted some sloppy kisses from the puppy and tried to get him to relax a little. He tried to relax a little himself...

The reality was sinking in, and he knew that this was big. It was bigger than he'd anticipated. He hadn't thought that his sister-in-law going missing would snowball into something like this. The idea that a criminal had been living right near them all this time and he'd been blind to it...it was disheartening. And it did drive Sherlock to want to make things right.

"What am I going to do with you?" he whispered to Redbeard.

He would most likely leave soon after John and Mary's wedding to begin searching for Moriarty. But he had no idea how long he would be gone.

The truth of the matter was that Sherlock knew exactly what needed to be done with Redbeard. This would be best for his pet, and put his mind at ease. Though it could be a bit difficult...she would say yes, he was sure of it. He would have to speak to her on this matter sooner rather than later.

Sherlock spent the majority of the night down in his lab, sitting with Redbeard, and then doing some organizing. He only got a couple of hours sleep that night, and before long the sun was up, rudely streaming into his bedroom window.

* * *

Mycroft walked into the dining room looking like a very different man.

"Good morning, darling! How is she?" his mother asked right away.

Mycroft smiled, almost shyly. "She is well, thank you. Feeling better already."

"Oh, what lovely news!" Lady Holmes said with an excited grin.

"I'll look in on her after breakfast," John assured him.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson...where is my brother?"

John cleared his throat. "I am not sure where he is, but I know he would like to speak to you. Sherlock has reason to believe he knows who attacked your wife."

Mycroft's eyes widened. "Does he? Well, good. We don't want to waste any time. I want whoever did this to pay dearly. Preferably...with their lives," he hissed out as he began to drink his tea.

The butler came in, excusing the disturbance of breakfast. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes is in the study and has asked to see Lord Holmes. Shall I tell him to wait?"

Mycroft set his tea cup down again. "Apparently he cannot come find me himself. And no, you needn't tell him to wait. I shall follow you directly."

"What about your breakfast?" his mother fussed.

"I shall eat later, Mother." He left the room quickly.

"I do hope they are able to get this sorted by your wedding day," Lady Holmes said as she smiled at the two of them.

"Justice takes priority. If it disrupts the wedding day, so be it," Mary said with a smile at John.

John smiled back at her and took her hand under the table. He hoped it would all get sorted. But he also knew, just like Sherlock did, that this was something bigger than any of them had realized...and it would have to be dealt with, one way or another.

* * *

Mycroft sat on the other side of the desk staring back at his younger brother, with fingers pressed together against his chin. "This is certainly difficult. How in God's name can we possibly determine where they've gone now?"

Sherlock was getting up as Mycroft spoke. He carried a large stack of correspondence to the doorway and rang the bell. "That is what I am beginning to take care of."

The butler came back in and Sherlock handed him all the envelopes. "I want you to send these out immediately. Not a moment to waste."

"Yes, sir." The butler hurried from the room.

"I have sent information to all my contacts, including Inspector Lestrade in London. Everyone will be on alert. I will begin tracing his possible steps very soon. I have an idea of the highest crime areas in England. Where there is smoke, there is fire...I will find him." Sherlock took a seat at the desk again. "Will you be returning to London soon as well?"

Mycroft drew a deep breath. "As a matter of fact, I plan to remain here at least until Dr. Watson marries. I do not wish to go through the upheaval of moving again till we are sure of Anthea's condition...and I will not leave her."

Sherlock nodded slowly, seeing the obvious change in his brother, which happened literally overnight. He was glad. Everything was as it should be.

"A wise decision, brother," Sherlock said with a half-smile. "I had planned to stay for the wedding as well, if only for the reason that my letters will surely take time to reach each of their destinations."

Mycroft agreed. "Yes, stay. It will only help to give your message time to spread. He cannot hide from us forever, and he will pay for what he did...for what he could have done."

Sherlock leaned back against his chair, recalling what his sister-in-law had shared with him. "It makes sense now. Anthea had told me that he seemed almost pleased to have run into her on the road. She had assumed it was because he could see she was a wealthy woman, but I believe it was because he was all too pleased to send our family a message. He said, 'you are the wife of Lord Holmes, are you not?' She wouldn't answer, but he chuckled happily. Before she could move her horse they crowded around her and grabbed the reins. They didn't even bother to ask for her jewels and give her the chance to comply. They simply pulled her to the ground."

Mycroft clasped his hands tightly together, wishing he could use them mercilessly against these men who had hurt his wife.

"They did rip her jewelry from her then, but there was no cause for any of their other violence. After they'd injured her and damaged her clothing, she had pleaded with them to let her go. One of them said, 'why would I want to keep you? You'll be much more use if we leave you right here.' She said he swung at her and that's the last thing she remembers. That blow must have knocked her unconscious, and that is where we found her."

"He obviously wanted to leave her to be found, and thus convey his _message_ to us loud and clear."

Sherlock looked at his brother with a steady gaze. "We will send our own message. He will hear it, whether he likes it or not."

"Yes," Mycroft said through gritted teeth. "And it should be one of the last things he hears."

* * *

A few days later, the family sat quietly around the breakfast table. Sherlock had reluctantly dressed and come to the dining room. Redbeard had smelled the sausages and wouldn't hear of staying away. He was currently being covertly fed bits under the table as Sherlock sipped his tea.

"Where is Mycroft and Anthea? She was well enough to come downstairs yesterday! Then suddenly they are nowhere to be found at dinner last night. And now breakfast as well!" Lady Holmes gestured to one of the servers. "Are my son and Mrs. Holmes coming down, do you know?"

The serving boy blushed slightly. "Um, Mrs. Holmes maid was sent to the kitchen with a request for their breakfast to be sent upstairs and left outside her bedroom door."

Lady Holmes rolled her eyes a little. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered into her teacup.

Mary covered her mouth as she snorted out a laugh.

"Well, better late than never. Good news, I would say. I cannot blame them," John said with a smirk. He glanced at Mary and added. "I myself do not plan to see a breakfast table for many weeks in the near future."

Lady Holmes cup hit the saucer with a clank. "This is hardly dining room conversation, Dr. Watson! Honestly!" she huffed.

John stifled a laugh as he apologized, but he also exchanged another warm glance with Mary. She bit her lip, smiling back and trying not to laugh as well.

The heated glances between the couple did not go unnoticed by Sherlock, even though he tried to ignore it. It was not to say that Sherlock was not pleased for his friend and cousin, and his brother and sister-in-law, and the fact that they had found happiness in each other. He was pleased for them, of course. But he had never realized how uncomfortable it could be, to be surrounded by happily matched couples. It was uncomfortable now...because it made him feel his own loss much more intensely.

Sherlock cleared his throat after swallowing his last bite of toast and gulping down the last of his tea. He stood from the table. "Excuse me, I will be back later. There is something I need to see to before I leave in a few days."

He walked out of the room and Mary leaned over to John and said under her breath, "I do hope he is referring to a certain person."

John nodded in agreement. He hoped so, but he also knew his friend. Whatever was going on in Sherlock's head, it would be awfully difficult to break through.

* * *

Sherlock neared Molly's home with Redbeard in tow, and he kept reminding himself that he was visiting on business. He needed to be there, and this was not a social call. He was absolutely not thinking of the pleasure of seeing her, or so he kept telling himself.

When he rounded some hedges though, he felt a renewed surge of jealously. He was greeted by the sight of Tom speaking to Molly at the end of the road to her home. He knew he shouldn't feel an inner satisfaction at interrupting them...but he did.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes!" Molly said immediately, and smiled as he approached. "Good day."

"Good day, Mr. Holmes." Tom smiled at him as well.

"Good day, Miss Hooper...Dr. Charles." He looked back and forth between the two people and made an insincere face of concern. "Oh, forgive me, was I intruding?"

"Oh no, not at all," Tom said kindly. "I was just leaving. I need to see some patients, but I happened to be going by this way, so...well, thank you for the tea, Miss Hooper."

"It was my pleasure, Dr. Charles," she said with a warm smile. "And remember, do not let Mr. Fleming boss you around! Do not let him forget who the doctor is, or he will never respect you. My father certainly had his work cut out for him with that one!"

Tom laughed and smiled at her as he started backing away. "I'll remember, thank you. Well, good day to you both."

Sherlock nodded ever so slightly. Molly waved and smiled as he walked away. After he had turned the corner, Molly smiled up at Sherlock.

"Out on another walk by this way, Mr. Holmes?" She scratched behind Redbeard's ears as he perched his front legs against her leg.

"Yes...but it was by design. I had wanted to speak to you, Miss Hooper. Perhaps you could spare a few minutes?"

Molly almost couldn't find words. Her heart immediately started to race. "Well, yes, yes of course. Um, why don't we head into the house and then we can...talk."

The one minute walk into her house seemed like an eternity to Molly. She was too nervous and couldn't bear the silence.

"I am pleased you stopped by. I have the last two sketches ready for you."

"That's good to hear," he said, offering her a brief smile.

They went into the house and got settled in the sun filled sitting room. Molly sat down and gave Redbeard more pats as he stood on hind legs to reach her lap. She looked over at Sherlock who was staring back at her and his dog. Molly felt the need to speak again, uncomfortable with the silent staring.

"I do hope Anthea is well."

"She is, yes. Everything seems to be fine. She is feeling better and keeping herself...busy." He cleared his throat. "Actually, Anthea is somewhat the reason for my calling here today."

"Oh," Molly said, with surprise, and a little disappointment. "Is it?"

"I have very good reason to believe that I know who was behind her robbery and injuries. I believe it was Mr. James Moriarty."

Molly's eyes became saucers. "What? Mr. Moriarty?! A-are you sure?"

"I am. He as much as confessed it in a note left for me at the inn. He had already checked out, unfortunately, by the time I realized I should seek him out for questioning."

"Do you think this was...about you?"

"Mmm." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps not _just_ about me though. More likely it was a message of hatred to both myself and my brother. I am hated for my work with Scotland Yard, and my brother for his influence in government."

Molly asked her next question hesitantly. "And you are going to try to catch him, aren't you?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, Miss Hooper, I am. I will be leaving very soon. Dr. Watson's wedding is in a few days and I plan to leave soon after that. I have already laid some of the ground work for my search. I have sent word to every possible contact I could think of. It will not be myself alone that is on the watch for him."

Molly looked down at Redbeard, having trouble meeting Sherlock's eyes for a moment. She eventually looked back at him, giving him a carefully controlled smile.

"You will surely be missed," she said softly.

Sherlock's resolve almost crumbled before his eyes. He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak again in a casual tone. "I was going to be leaving shortly anyway. It was never my intent to stay here in the country. The summer is almost over."

"Yes, I suppose it is," she said sadly.

 _Get to the point, man!_ he screamed at himself. "Miss Hooper, I have a favor to ask of you, given my imminent departure."

Her expression perked up and she answered instantly. "Of course. I am sure I would be happy to help however I can...anything you need."

 _God, this is harder than I imagined it would be._ "I, um, I am not sure how long I will be gone. It could be weeks, it could be months. There is no way for me to tell. But I do not intend to return to my home in London till my search is complete. As I contemplate my lengthy journey, I find my worries often settle on...Redbeard."

Molly began to smile ever so slightly. This was no cheery conversation, but the concern that Sherlock had for his pet was nothing short of endearing.

"I can hardly leave him here. He would be fed and perhaps taken outside twice a day by a servant, but I cannot imagine him getting much attention. Mrs. Hudson would absolutely have my head if I was to leave him with her. I believe she is hardly cut out for the constant care of a dog...especially a young one with lots of energy. So, that brings me to my obvious request...will you take him, Miss Hooper?"

Molly pressed her lips together tightly and blinked a couple of times. There was something awfully moving about his plea. And she knew what her answer would be even before he spoke it.

"Yes," she said with a slight tremor in her voice. She cleared her throat and spoke more clearly. "Yes, of course I'll take care of him. I would be honored."

Sherlock smiled and released a breath, looking relieved. "Good...I am glad. As I said though, I cannot promise how long I will be gone. I hope he will not prove to be a nuisance, since I know your life is not likely to remain...as it is for much longer."

Molly couldn't conceal a bit of surprise at his words. He had not yet made any sort of reference to Tom's obvious interest, but it seemed that he was alluding to it now. _So he does realize it,_ she thought. _He knows, and he does not mind._

Molly could not bring herself to speak freely about it. "Redbeard could never be a nuisance," she said honestly.

Sherlock reached his hand down, snapping his fingers and beckoning Redbeard to come to him. He seemed to want the comfort as he went on speaking.

"There is perhaps one more thing I should add. If anything should...happen to me...I should like for you to keep him." Sherlock looked at Molly very seriously, and she could swear he was having difficulty speaking. "Do you think you could do that for me?"

Molly stared back at him and couldn't conceal the fact that she had to sniff away some tears. "Do you um, think that something like that could happen?" she asked in a whisper.

Sherlock tried to straighten up and appear a bit more unconcerned. He shrugged. "James Moriarty does seem a particularly ruthless kind of criminal. Besides, such a thing is always a realistic possibility in my line of work. Apparently I am human." He gave her a half smile, trying to lighten the mood.

She nodded slowly, took a cleansing breath, and looked at him again. "Of course I will agree to take care of Redbeard if...I prefer not to think of it in a permanent way, but let us just say that it will be for as long as you are away, however long that may be." Molly forced a cheery smile.

"And now my mind is at rest," Sherlock lied with a smile. Of course he was genuinely happy to have Redbeard's care settled. But the truth was that this conversation was proving to add more weight, of a different sort, to his mind.

How could he leave her soon, wondering if he would never see her again? His only comfort was in the knowledge that she would likely find her own happiness. He wanted that, he really did. And surely he would only interfere with it in the long run. In fact, he was beginning to formulate a plan in his mind. Perhaps it would be best, partly for himself, if he did not ever return. He could always send for Redbeard. Plenty of servants could make sure that he was safely returned to Baker Street...

"The, um, sketches," Molly brought up, mercifully changing the subject. She got up and went for the door. "I'll be right back."

Sherlock worked to collect his thoughts while she was out of the room. Redbeard placed his paws in Sherlock's knees, looking up at him.

"You'll be happy here. She'll take good care of you," he whispered. He scratched underneath Redbeard's soft chin. "You take care of her as well, all right?"

A moment later, Molly reappeared. "Here they are. There's the shell and the flower petal. I hope you like them."

Sherlock smiled as he looked them over. "They're just perfect, thank you. These will go well with the rest."

Molly didn't want to ask what he meant by that. In a drawer? In a box? As kindling? Well, no matter. She enjoyed doing it, and that was all she should care about.

As Sherlock continued staring at the sketches, he said, "Dr. Charles has been visiting often, has he not?"

Molly's breath caught in her throat again at his mention of the uncomfortable topic. "Well, yes, I suppose. A few times since he's come to town."

He looked at her again. "You...welcome his visits then?" he asked, examining her face carefully.

 _Not as welcome as your visits._ "Yes, he is...welcome," she managed to say with a smile.

"Good," he smiled back. But when he looked away, Molly could swear she saw his jaw clench tightly. He looked down at Redbeard. "We should be on our way."

They both rose from their seats and Molly was again struck by some sort of undefinable discomfort that Sherlock was giving off. She looked up at him expectantly.

"I will return with Redbeard in less than a weeks' time, I believe," he said.

"That will be fine." _No it won't,_ she thought. _How will I even be able to breathe again?_

"Good day, Miss Hooper."

"Good day, Mr. Holmes."

She watched him walk away and thought, _one more time. I'll see him one more time, and then I have to watch him walk away for who knows how long._

Molly honestly wondered how she would bear it.

Little did she know that Sherlock was walking the path away from her house, thinking about the next time he would be here, and wondering how he would manage to take these very steps again...one last time.


	19. Chapter 19

"Do relax, Watson," Sherlock muttered to his friend as they stood at the alter in the front of the church. "Continually straightening your jacket will do nothing to make the ceremony progress."

"Sorry," he whispered back as he continued to fidget with his regiment uniform. "I did not think I would be this nervous. I'll feel better once she is here."

Sherlock straightened his stance again and both men patiently waited for the bride to arrive and the ceremony to begin. They did not have to wait much longer. A moment later, the doors opened, and there stood Mycroft with Mary on his arm.

The mid-morning sun came streaming in, illuminating Mary like some sort of angel. She wore a white silk gown with lace overlay, and had a matching bonnet on her head. Little gold ringlets of her hair peeked out from underneath, which made her appear even more heavenly to her waiting groom.

Sherlock watched as John's shoulders fell a little and he clearly relaxed at the sight of Mary progressing down the aisle toward him. Mycroft handed her off to John and she took his arm. The two of them gazed at each other for just a moment before turning their attention to the minister.

The ceremony began and everyone was quiet. Sherlock stood statuesque beside his best friend and cousin. He allowed his mind to wander though, and wasn't terribly interested in focusing on the words being spoken. He was thinking about the next day...and the many days to come after that.

He had planned his course carefully. He took into account where the highest crime rates were, and where a criminal like Moriarty would consider it _productive_ to be. He planned check points, and people that he would stop to question. The past few days had afforded him plenty of opportunity to take everything into account. He felt prepared...and yet so completely lost.

Sherlock's mind came back inside the walls of the church as John and Mary repeated their vows. He found it difficult to listen though. At this point, with what was looming ahead of him, it was easier to distance himself from feeling. He wished he was more like he had been before this summer.

Before he knew it though, the couple had been pronounced man and wife, and the ceremony was over. The party left the church, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Watson climbed into the open carriage that would take them back to Seaborne for the wedding breakfast. Sherlock had brought his horse, preferring to ride on his own.

He took a leisurely route back to the estate, wanting to reduce as much time spent at the wedding breakfast as possible. No matter how pleased he was for John and Mary, that did not change the fact that he didn't enjoy mingling in society.

* * *

When he finally returned to Seaborne, there were already some guests enjoying the food and speaking to the happy couple. Sherlock caught John's eye and they exchanged a smile, but he ducked into the dining room to get himself a cup of tea. He ran into his mother as he walked out into the hall again.

"Oh, darling, there you are!" She touched his face for a moment with a concerned motherly expression that he didn't see very often anymore. "Are you quite all right? I cannot imagine you are looking forward to searching for that horrid man!"

Lady Holmes had never gotten used to the fact that this was exactly the sort of thing that made the blood pump through her son's veins. But Sherlock knew that in this case he might be giving off an air of unhappiness. It had nothing to do with his being about to embark on a dangerous quest for justice, but more to do with what he was leaving behind.

"I will do what must be done, Mother," he said simply.

"Can you not have others search? There's the whole of Scotland Yard at your beck and call!"

Sherlock smiled at his mother and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It needs to be done quickly and correctly. That means it is I who should do it." He smiled at his mother and planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

She did not look comforted. She was not a constantly affectionate and doting mother. But in reality, her deepest love and concern was always focused on her children, even if she didn't express it in words. She watched her younger son walk away toward the bride and groom, and she sighed to herself.

"Between the two of those boys...I do not know how I sleep at night."

John reached out as Sherlock came over to them and the two men shook hands.

"You leave in the morning?" John asked.

"Yes, I do. And the two of you?"

"We leave in a little while. We will stay at an inn about an hour west, and then travel to Bath in another couple of days. And is...everything settled before your journey?" John asked, looking as if there was something he wasn't saying.

Sherlock gazed back at his friend, understanding his unspoken question. "Everything is settled, Watson. It is as settled as it ever will be," he replied in a calculated and controlled tone.

Mary reached over and grasped her cousin's hand. "Sherlock, I know you think the rest of us don't understand everything sometimes...a lot of the time, actually...but I hope you realize that we just want you to be happy. It is difficult for us to stand by and watch as you deny yourself a happiness that you do deserve."

A shadow of sadness crept back over Sherlock's serious expression. "Perhaps, Mary...it is not completely about what I deserve," he said quietly.

Mary looked discouraged by his answer. But she smiled, and said, "Please be careful on your hunt, cousin. We shall want to see you when we return to London. And we hope you'll be in one piece!" She gave his hand a squeeze before releasing it.

"I look forward to seeing you both again." He gave them both a smile, and walked off in the direction of the library, clearly not wanting to mingle among the rest of the guests.

Mary watched him go with a worried expression. "I just want him to be all right."

"He will be, I'm sure of it. We know Sherlock. He always seems to find a way to survive," John said as he slipped an arm around his new wife's waist.

Mary looked up at John sadly. "I'm not talking of surviving. I want him to _live_ and be _happy._ He should have that."

A smile made John's lips creep up a bit as he lowered his face closer to Mary's. "Happy like I am right now, you mean?" he whispered softly.

Mary couldn't help but smile back at him. "Are you selfishly turning the conversation back to us now?"

John shrugged. "It cannot be helped. I did just marry the most perfect woman in the world, so it is a bit difficult to stop speaking about us."

Mary couldn't resist the urge to tilt her head up just a bit and lightly touch her lips to his.

When John opened his eyes again after closing them for a moment in bliss, he murmured, "When exactly are we taking our leave, Mrs. Watson?"

Mary smiled and bit her lip as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Not nearly soon enough, Dr. Watson."

John shook his head slowly as he smiled back at her, as if to say that he could barely believe this was the woman he would leave with very shortly. He leaned down again and touched his forehead to hers. "Mary," he breathed out.

But the lovely moment ended when Lady Holmes marched over to introduce more guests to them. John and Mary put on smiling faces, but they had both become all the more anxious to get out of this house full of people.

It was time to begin their new life together.

* * *

Sherlock woke early the next morning, finishing what little he had left to do. He had one very large project that he'd worked on completing in the past couple of days, and he wanted to make sure that he had a certain something to bring with him when he went to take Redbeard to Molly.

Sherlock mounted his horse after kissing his mother and Mrs. Hudson on the cheek. Mycroft came over to the horse and extended his hand. Sherlock took it and they shook hands for a moment.

"God speed, Sherlock," Mycroft said very seriously. "I shall return to London shortly, and I will be watching for any developments."

Sherlock nodded. "Till London then."

"Yes, till London," Mycroft agreed. Anyone who was watching the elder Holmes' face could see that in the moment, his concern lay more with his brother than with the outcome of the search for Moriarty.

But he also knew that Sherlock would come through. As he watched his younger brother ride off with Redbeard trotting along behind, he knew that this was for the best. And there was absolutely nobody better for the job.

* * *

Sherlock dismounted and tied his horse up, but he stood there for a moment, hesitating before beginning to walk toward her door. This would be difficult, and he knew it. Even Redbeard seemed on edge and uneasy. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths. He considered the possibility that, in the worst case scenario, this would be the last time he would see Molly Hooper. And at the very least, it could be a very long while before they would meet again.

Finally, Sherlock turned away from his horse and went to the house, carrying a jar in his hand. He knew she would be expecting him, as he had sent a letter the day before, and he wondered if she was anywhere near as apprehensive.

Molly came to open the door, instead of the usual Mrs. Hart.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," she said with a small smile, and Sherlock could see that she was indeed a little nervous.

"Morning, Miss Hooper."

Molly backed further inside the house, making way for Sherlock, as she accepted Redbeard's excited greetings. He followed her into the sitting room where there was already some tea and biscuits waiting.

"You didn't need to go to any trouble," he said as he took a seat.

"Oh, it was nothing. Mrs. Hart had been baking anyway and, well, you are leaving, so..." Her words trailed off and her eyes fell to Redbeard who sat almost protectively by his master's feet.

"He's a bit on edge," Sherlock said, seeing her observing the dog.

"Poor thing," she said sadly.

Sherlock and Molly distracted themselves with tea for a few minutes, and Sherlock explained about some of the places he planned to go after leaving the country. She listened with great interest, though all she could think was how far away he would be and how very long this journey was sounding to her.

"Oh yes," Sherlock said, remembering something. He reached down to the floor, picking up the jar he'd brought with him, and held it out to Molly. "This is for you. It hardly makes up for taking care of someone else's pet for an extended period of time, but I thought it right to give you some."

A smile spread on Molly's face as she took the jar and examined the amber contents. "This is honey. Oh my goodness! It's from your bees, isn't it?"

Sherlock smiled and nodded. "It had to be done before I left. There would be nobody else willing to shoulder the responsibility. I am glad it was somewhat of a success. Though it is a messy business to collect the honey. I am not sure I'm cut out for the hobby...not now at least. Perhaps later in life I'll give it another go."

Molly held the jar lovingly in her palms and kept smiling at the golden thick liquid that was shining back at her. "I love it, thank you. It was lovely of you to share some with me." She looked over at him and gave him a radiant smile.

Sherlock hoped his face didn't look as warm and red as it felt to him. He cleared his throat. "Well, again, it seemed the least I could do, considering the favor you are doing for Redbeard and myself."

"I couldn't be any happier to do it. Well, that is not to say I am happy you must go..." It was Molly's turn to become a little red now. She set the honey down on the table next to the tea. "So, you will be gone for quite some time?"

"It will surely be some weeks, possibly months. It's difficult to say exactly. There is the small chance this will all go rather quickly. But if I have accurately deduced James Moriarty, I do not believe he will be an easy man to catch."

"And you will...send word when you'll be coming back?" She wondered if she had the right to ask such a thing.

Sherlock hesitated. "I, um, I will certainly make sure to collect Redbeard as soon as possible. And if I cannot come myself...I will be sure to send someone."

Molly looked shocked by his words, even though she tried to conceal it. He felt a pain in his chest at her expression, but he felt it was only fair to warn her that he was possibly not going to be the one returning for his pet. He wasn't sure he could bear it, considering what her life would likely be. And he wasn't sure it would be all that easy for her either.

"I see," she said, putting on a smile again. "Well of course you will be awfully busy. That is understandable. You've been away from London for so long."

He nodded in agreement, but looked down at Redbeard who was watching him. He felt it unwise to stay too long and make this parting even more difficult. Better to do it quickly, and be done. Finish it while he still had some sense left.

Sherlock stood, making Molly follow suit. "I should not stay long. I must be on my way."

"Of course," she said immediately. "I would not want to delay you at all."

The two of them and Redbeard walked back to the entry way, and stopped near the door. Sherlock crouched down, ruffling his pet's fur and scratching behind his ears.

"You be a good dog. You listen to Miss Hooper now, all right? She'll take good care of you, I promise."

Molly pressed her lips together as she watched Sherlock saying goodbye to the animal that he'd clearly come to love with all his heart. If it was this difficult to watch him bid the dog farewell, she prayed for strength to control herself as they finally parted.

Sherlock lingered with the dog for a moment before reluctantly standing. He kept looking down at Redbeard for a bit, before turning his gaze to Molly. He gave her a little half smile. "Suppose this is it then."

"Yes," was all she could manage to get out.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back as he faced her a few feet away. "This has been a most interesting summer. I've been glad to...make your acquaintance. My summer has been better for it."

"And mine, Mr. Holmes," she answered quietly, trying very hard to control her voice.

"Your father was also a friend to me, and I will not forget him. It was a privilege to have known him."

Molly wasn't sure she would be able to conceal all emotion if he was to be speaking about her father. She quickly reached up and touched her eye, wiping away some gathering moisture as Sherlock continued.

"He was an excellent sort of man, and he was the sort of father that any child should wish to have...he very much wanted for you to be happy," he said pointedly.

Molly could feel her heart pounding against her chest, but she didn't want to let on. She didn't want to break down completely and give away the turmoil that she was experiencing inside. She wanted to be strong.

"I find that I feel the same. I want that for you," he said, looking down for a moment, but then meeting her gaze intensely once again. "I hope you'll be very happy, Miss Hooper...you deserve it."

Molly couldn't move now, and could barely even breathe as her eyes remained locked onto his. His voice was so low and soft that she could feel the vibrations of his words in the air.

Sherlock looked down at her, thinking, _this is it. I'm saying goodbye, when all I really want is to spend eternity with her._ Without thinking, his feet advanced a couple more steps. He stood closer to her now, and he wondered if it was possible that her eyes had literally drawn his body in. What exactly did he think he could do in this moment besides simply saying goodbye and walking away?

And yet, putting aside all the rules of propriety that hung heavily around them, he couldn't help feeling that saying goodbye just wasn't enough. Despite the fact that he was making the conscious decision to let her go, he was still afraid of the small chance that this would be the last time he would see her. And if it was...if it was...

With a somber ghost of a smile on his lips, he leaned down, examining her face closely as he did. Her pupils were blown wide and she looked almost afraid of what he was about to do.

The reality was, Molly _was_ terrified. She was terrified of what she was feeling, terrified of that she would be left to feel...all alone.

Sherlock tilted his head just a bit and his lips reached their destination on the smooth skin of her cheek.

Molly's eyes shut tight, her lips parted, and her hands gripped the fabric of her dress, desperate to hold onto something. Although his lips felt cool on her skin, they did nothing but spread a burning warmth. It was all too quick though, and before she was ready he pulled back again.

The intensity was overwhelming for Sherlock as well. So when he pulled away, he didn't linger, standing there to gaze down at her again. Instead, he walked past her and opened the door. He paused in the doorway, only turning halfway around to speak again.

"Goodbye, Molly Hooper," he whispered softly.

Molly whispered her own, "goodbye," in return, just barely loud enough for him to hear. She thought she saw him hesitate for a moment as he continued through the door...but then he left. He walked out, shut the door behind him, and she saw him walk the path back to his horse.

Molly felt her eyes begin filling the moment the door shut. She felt the first tear slip down her still burning cheek as Redbeard rushed to the closed door and began whining a bit. She sunk heavily to the floor and cradled the dog as she wept softly.

"You'll see him again, I promise. It's all right, it's all right," she murmured between sniffles. "Don't cry...don't cry." Her voice broke and a sob ripped through her as she tried to comfort the poor animal who couldn't begin to understand the complexity of emotion that swirled around him. The two of them stayed there on the floor for quite some time, both of them suffering in their own way. For Redbeard, it was because he didn't understand.

And for Molly...it was because she thought she did.

As Sherlock rode away that day, having parted from more than one thing that he held dear, he had never been more convinced of one thing. He knew that he never had, and most likely never again would, love another woman the way that he'd fallen in love with Molly Hooper.

* * *

Molly still felt like she was walking around in a daze for the next few days. It was difficult to find enjoyment in much of anything, and she was left to wonder how long she would be forced to suffer in this way. As if it wasn't enough that she was still grieving for the loss of her father, she now had the pain of losing Sherlock.

Although having Redbeard was a bit of a painful reminder, she wasn't sorry she'd taken him in. It gave her the benefit of occupying her mind and distracting her from wallowing in negative thoughts. The sweet dog had recovered from missing his master and had made himself at home relatively quickly. His presence was comforting.

Molly took off the apron she'd had on as she helped Mrs. Hart in the kitchen. "I'd better keep an eye out," she said to the older woman. "Dr. Charles should be here any moment."

She left the kitchen, stopping at the mirror in the hallway to make sure she hadn't completely made a mess of herself, and then continued on to the sitting room.

Tom had sent a letter two days ago, requesting a visit this afternoon. She was no fool, and she knew this was significant. He had been casually dropping by till now, always making the excuse of being in the area. But today felt so formal, and it was clear that his intention was to speak plainly of his feelings. She had expected this. It wasn't a shock. Though the timing made things all the more difficult to process.

Not long after, she sat across from Tom in the sunny little room, sipping her tea and giving him an occasional smile. He was a good man, a kind man, and she didn't have one bad thing to say about him...

"Miss Hooper," he said, setting down his tea. "I have something I would like to ask you."

Molly decided to set her tea down as well. Nothing good would come of dropping it all over herself. "Yes, Dr. Charles, what is it?" she asked in as relaxed a tone as she could manage.

"I hope you will not think me rude," he said with a small chuckle. "I would not normally trouble you with such a question, but of course, I have only you to ask." He looked embarrassed, having made reference to her being without a parent.

Molly began to wonder if this was going in a different direction than she thought.

"But I feel I must ask this before...anything else. People do talk of course, and I would not want to be without all the facts. What I want to ask you is whether your father's connection with Mr. Sherlock Holmes was anything to do with...you." He clasped his hands nervously in his lap as he looked at her across the space between the two couches.

Molly blinked a couple of times and looked mildly confused. "Oh, are you referring to Mr. Holmes being the reason Dr. Watson assisted my father in his practice over this summer, because that-"

"Oh no, not that," Tom said quickly. "I was speaking of their _financial_ connection. The payment of his debts."

Molly suddenly felt a chill rush through her body. It was as if she'd been doused with cold water, and the shock was paralyzing. Tom went on.

"Again, forgive me for touching on such a personal matter of your father's, but I did not want to gullibly believe idle gossip. I felt it best to go directly to you instead. I only wish to know because, as you may have gathered by now, it is important to me." He finished his words with a soft smile.

Molly Hooper was clever, especially when she most needed to be. And this was one of those moments. The last thing she wanted to do was to give the impression that she knew nothing of this, or that she was trying to cover anything up. She took a breath and made her lips smile a little.

"It was nothing to do with me, of course," she answered casually. "Mr. Holmes and my father were friends. And my father had cared for their family for many years. It was all simply business dealings between friends. I know little of the details, naturally."

Tom appeared to breathe a sigh of relief. "Naturally," he answered with a smile. "I thought as much, but as I said, people do talk. I know Mr. Holmes was a friend, so...well, no matter. We needn't dwell on such things any longer. In fact, there is something of a different nature that I had hoped to speak to you about now."

Molly felt herself screaming inside at what she knew was coming. She needed a moment, needed to think.

Molly stood abruptly, and Tom followed. "Excuse me for just a moment, Dr. Charles."

"Is something the matter?" he asked, looking concerned.

"Not at all. I just...I wanted to ask Mrs. Hart if she would bring some of that bread she had just baked this morning. I'll only be a moment."

Molly rushed from the room, leaving Tom to sit back down and try to wait patiently. Redbeard had been waiting outside the sitting room and he followed her excitedly into her father's office. Molly shut the door quietly and let her back rest against the wall as she continued gripping the knob tightly.

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't slow her breathing. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she continued putting all the pieces together. It all made sense now.

She had recently met with her father's accountant, and when she saw the state of their finances, she was pleasantly surprised...very pleasantly surprised. She had drawn her own conclusions about how bad things were, based on things her father had said in the past couple of years. So when she saw that there were funds left in his account, including a separate sum set aside for her dowry, and no debt whatsoever, she had to wonder how things were as good as they were. She was hardly left as a wealthy woman, but she was in no immediate danger either. It almost seemed suspicious to her.

The reality of the situation came crashing down on her and she felt like she might burst. She was here, safe, in her home, with the chance for a future...all because of him. Sherlock had made sure she would be all right. And if she knew her father at all, it was not difficult to understand that Sherlock did this of his own accord. Never in a million years would her father have requested such a thing. In fact, she could very well imagine him fighting the idea at first.

She felt pressure closing in on her. Now what? There was a man sitting in the other room, a wonderful man, who was most likely about to propose. And somewhere, far away...was the man that she _wished_ was in the other room.

Molly battled in her mind, going over about a million different things. She thought of all the lovely things about Tom, and what a good husband he would be. She felt very sure of that. She was a good judge of character, and he was obviously a man that could be the making of a happy wife. And he would take care of her, making sure they were comfortable enough.

She thought about Sherlock. Not just about the truth she'd just learned, but about all the time she'd spent in his company this summer. She tried to analyze how he'd acted, and what he'd said, and done. Had there been anything to it? Anything at all? Or did he simply see her as a trusted friend? Something in his demeanor, and the look in his eyes when he'd left her a few days before, made her think that perhaps there was more...something he wasn't saying.

Molly let out a small groan and ran her hand over her eyes. That was nothing to go on! He'd said nothing, given her no promises, no hope at all. In fact, he even said he might not personally return to collect Redbeard, but instead send someone else! How could she even imagine that Sherlock's affections were a possibility?

Redbeard stood and placed his paws on her legs, looking up at her and giving a small whimper. She sighed and gave him some affection while trying to sort everything out. How could she make a decision with so many factors involved?

But all at once, it hit her like a lead weight. All she had to do was make it simple. There didn't have to be so many factors. Making the decision at hand became incredibly easy when she removed all those other things she'd been weighing in her mind. This was a decision about her own life. It was time to stop thinking about how Sherlock might feel, or Tom, or anyone else. All she needed to make this decision...was herself.

She knew exactly what she needed to do then. There was no more confusion. She closed her eyes. "Heaven help me do what I must," she whispered.

Molly opened the office door, took a deep breath, and went back down the hall to join Tom...


	20. Chapter 20

TWO MONTHS LATER

Sherlock trudged through the chilly streets of London, keeping his head low. He had no desire to speak to anyone. There was nobody he could imagine wanting to chat with, especially since the Watsons weren't expected back from their bridal tour for another week or so.

He just wanted to hide away. There was little left to occupy his mind at the moment, now that it was over...it was finally over.

Two days ago, he had witnessed the hanging of a half dozen of James Moriarty's henchmen. He had aided in the capture of others who were connected to his intricate crime web, but there were certain men who were more deeply involved, and held greater responsibility for some horrible crimes. For those men, including Sebastian Moran, they had to pay with their lives.

He hardly considered it pleasant, but he had to be there, if only to see it through to the end. He wished Moriarty had been among those men, but that was not how things had turned out.

About two weeks before, Sherlock's hunt had finally brought him face to face with Moriarty. The confrontation had ended on a bridge over a river a couple of day's journey from London. Sherlock wasn't alone. He had Inspector Lestrade and some other men with them. By that time, he'd already broken down the criminal monarchy bit by bit. All that was left was to catch the man himself. He'd approached the bridge cautiously, with the rest of the men staying further back, ready to spring into action if needed...

* * *

_"It's over, Moriarty!" Sherlock called as he advanced further onto the bridge. "You can't run anymore. There's nobody left to run to. Give up now!"_

_Moriarty stood there, seemingly calm, with his back to the detective and hands on the railing. Slowly, very slowly, Moriarty turned to face Sherlock who was still a little distance away. Sherlock noted that the somewhat normal man he had met some time ago in the country seemed long gone. All he could see now was an insane villain._

_"You've had your fun now, have you?" he asked Sherlock, a chilling smile beginning to spread. "And now you're done with me. But I think you'll be sorry."_

_"Sorry to see you pay for the years of crime that you've been controlling behind the scenes? Sorry to see you pay for almost killing my sister-in-law and her unborn child?" Sherlock shook his head. "I think not."_

_Moriarty chuckled. "I've also been entertaining you for years. Who else could keep you so busy?! None of the other criminals are clever enough. That is what you need, isn't it? Clever. I should be feeling sorry for you. What can be left for the brilliant detective now? What'll you do? Stay here and catch petty thieves? Run back to Mummy in the country?"_

_Sherlock glared at him as he clicked his tongue a couple of times and leaned his back against the railing._

_"That all sounds awfully boring...does it not? I think you know I'm right. That's why I pity you. I think you'll be sorry when I'm gone. That's how it is with a man like you, isn't it? You can't see a good thing till it's gone." Moriarty raised a knowing eyebrow at him._

_Sherlock frowned at what he thought may have been a reference to something else...someone else._

_"Stop this now!" he bellowed at Moriarty as he took a few more steps forward. "No more games. I care nothing for you or for how clever you are. I am here for justice, and nothing more!"_

_Sherlock took one more step, and in a flash, Moriarty hoisted himself up to stand on the railing of the bridge, still facing the detective._

_Sherlock's eyes widened. He put a hand out. "Do not move! There is nowhere to go. Come down right now, and end this!"_

_Moriarty shook his head slowly and chuckled. "There is no end to this, Mr. Holmes. Don't fool yourself." He glanced over his shoulder at the rushing water far below, then back at the detective with a more serious expression. "Maybe this is only the beginning."_

_Sherlock watched him closely as he stood perched on the rail. He shook his head ever so slightly at the insane man. "Don't...do it."_

_A smile spread slowly on Moriarty's face again as he gazed back at Sherlock. "Try not to get too bored without me, Mr. Holmes...bye!"_

_And with that, he fell backwards. In that same second, Sherlock ran the rest of distance to the railing, and he heard the splash just before he reached the edge. There was nothing left to see once he looked down though, except for the river below._

_The rest of the men from Scotland Yard came hurrying over as well, all of them peering over the side into the dark water. Sherlock walked away quickly. He knew they wouldn't be able to see anything. Anyone that fell into that water would have gone under the surface and been carried off far too quickly. There was no finding Moriarty now._

_Just in case, Lestrade's men went down to the river bank to check the underside of the bridge and the surrounding areas. But Sherlock was very sure this would be pointless. He stayed on the bridge, hands gripping the cold railing, staring into the distance._

_"He is gone, and I suppose that counts for something," Lestrade said, approaching him from behind._

_"He is only gone on his terms, and I did not want that. He deserved to go to trial, and face his punishment, whatever that may be. My brother will be less than thrilled at this outcome. He would have at least wanted a body...proof of death"_

_"We can keep checking down river. It is possible something will...wash up. I'll let you know of course if we find anything at all."_

_Sherlock turned to face the Inspector. "I don't like to say it, but I have a suspicion that you won't. Thank you though, Inspector. I suppose I will see you at the trials very soon."_

_Sherlock walked away, unsure of whether he should feel as though he had done what he'd set out to do. He did his best to assure himself that Moriarty was gone, one way or another. And he hoped this was the last that anyone would see of him._

* * *

As Sherlock walked down the street, he began to contemplate his next move. He was staying in the city, that much was certain. But he knew it was time to set the wheels in motion in getting Redbeard back. The more time went by, he became more convinced that it was best not to return in person. He believed nothing positive would be gained. There was surely nothing of Molly's life now that he would wish to see, and it was possible that the sight of him would even conjure old feelings of hers.

Oddly enough, this was what he was thinking of when he heard the sound of a familiar voice.

"Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes, is that you?"

Sherlock turned and had his fears confirmed when he found himself face to face with a grinning Dr. Tom Charles.

Sherlock offered a tight smile. "Dr. Charles, hello."

"Well, what an unexpected surprise to run into you! Though I suppose I should have thought it possible. I had heard you were back in London and involved in the trials of those men. I hear you deserve congratulations for a job well done."

"I was glad to do it," he answered simply, and then he began looking the man over more carefully.

_Wedding band...already married...documents in his hand, so clearly in London on business...perhaps personal financial affairs...quality of clothing much finer than when I last saw him...he's recently come into some money._

"I am awfully sorry to say that Mrs. Charles is not with me," he said with a grimace. "She had no interest in accompanying me to London, and simply said that I should hurry back. But she will be sorry that she hadn't come once she hears I've seen you! She has been ever so interested in the progress of your search for those criminals."

Sherlock couldn't help but feel warmed at the thought of Molly's continued interest, but he silently reprimanded himself, knowing it wasn't his place anymore,

"And Mrs. Charles is well then?" he asked as casually as he could.

Tom smiled the happy smile of a newly married man. "She is, yes. Very well, thank you. I leave London later today and will be happy to be home once again."

"I will be collecting Redbeard soon, of course," Sherlock added.

"Ah yes! You must be looking forward to having him back with you."

"I hope he behaved himself while I was away."

Tom shrugged and smiled. "He seems a loyal and well behaved animal, to be sure."

A small silence followed and Sherlock finally extended his hand which Tom took.

"I won't delay you, seeing as you are traveling out of the city soon. I am glad to hear that you and Mrs. Charles are well. Congratulations on your marriage...please give her my best." Sherlock spoke the words with effort, even if this was exactly how he hoped things would go for her.

"I certainly will," Tom said kindly as their hand shake ended. "She will be pleased to hear it. Perhaps we will see you in the country again soon?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock lied. He was all the more determined to avoid it now.

Tom gave him a final wave and pleasant smile, and the two men parted ways. Sherlock tipped his head down and hurried the rest of the way back to Baker Street. He wanted, and needed, to escape.

* * *

A few days later, Sherlock heard a knock at his flat door. He was slouched in his chair by the fire, looking a bit unkempt, having discarded his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. In truth, he hadn't done much with his appearance all day.

He had already assumed that somebody was here to see him. He'd heard the sound of Mrs. Hudson letting someone in downstairs. It was dark, half past eight, so this was either police business, or...

"Mr. Holmes, your brother is here to see you," Mrs. Hudson called through the door.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of course he is. I'm trying to enjoy my tea," he muttered to himself.

He got up and opened the door, walking away from it immediately and sitting back in his chair with a thud.

"Shall I get either of you anything?" Mrs. Hudson offered as Mycroft swept in and took a seat across from his brother.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hudson. My brother won't be staying long," Sherlock answered, picking up his tea again and taking a sip.

The older woman ducked out of the room with a smile and the two men were left alone.

Mycroft took off his hat, laying it on the arm of the chair. "Bit of a chill in the air now, isn't there?"

Sherlock frowned at him. "Have you come all the way across town simply to discuss the current weather? Clearly, you have some sort of deeper motive."

"I hardly have to tell you my motive, Sherlock. I have sent you more than one letter in the past fortnight, and you've ignored me. It seemed wise to...check in."

Sherlock raised his hands briefly before letting them fall onto the arms of his chair again. "I am alive, as you can see. Perhaps I simply did not want to be disturbed."

"Are you avoiding communication because you believe I will be somehow displeased about the outcome of the search for Moriarty? If so, I will freely admit that I do not hold you responsible for his unfortunate disappearance. Countless men have been held responsible for their crimes, some being executed, including the man who aided in my wife's assault. Do not expect me to become poetic, brother mine, but that is no small thing. I am grateful."

Sherlock placed his fingers together in front of his lips. "I am not feeling guilty about the way things turned out. Obviously there was nothing more I could have done."

Mycroft nodded. "Ah. In that case then, I imagine you are feeling the uncomfortable lull which inevitably comes at the end of a long and arduous case. And that is exactly the sort of reason I felt it necessary to check in. Wouldn't want you to…" Mycroft cleared his throat. "Fall into any old habits."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. "And who is to say that I haven't? What business is it of yours?" He got up from his seat to stalk around the flat a bit, looking a combination of defensive and downtrodden.

Mycroft sighed and watched him carefully, planning his next words. "You know very well that it is my business, Sherlock. And besides, I have recently received a letter from Mummy. I will need to respond, and naturally, she will want news of you."

"What sort of news do you expect to glean from visiting me today hmm? You already know all that there is to tell! I have solved the case, and I am alive and breathing!" Sherlock answered through clenched jaw.

"Oh yes, you seem very well indeed," Mycroft muttered under his breath, then he added aloud, "I will give her what little news I can I suppose. Actually though, Sherlock, one of the reasons I bothered to come by at this late hour tonight was not to gather news _from_ you, but instead to give it. I thought perhaps you would be interested to hear some of the things that Mummy related in her letter."

Sherlock leaned against the side of his window. "Unlikely. Has that ever thrilled me before? The cook's got a bad wrist, the maid is weepy and Mummy doesn't know why, nobody can seem to light the fires at the right time...the list of thrills from her letters go on and on. Is this one really much different?"

Mycroft smiled a little, since Sherlock wasn't looking at him. He was almost enjoying this, the thrill of the reveal. "I was thinking you may be interested in some of the _local_ news she had shared...news of acquaintances."

Sherlock could see what was coming next, and he hardly wanted to hear the words spoken aloud. "Have I ever been interested in town gossip?" he scoffed.

"No, but this is no gossip. It is news of individuals who you know well. You have been away, and I thought perhaps you would not know of some things. One thing, for instance...Dr. Tom Charles was lately married."

_And there it is,_ Sherlock thought with an internal groan of irritation. "Yes, yes, I am aware of that, thank you. I happened upon Dr. Charles in the city just a few days ago. Hardly thrilling news! Is that all?" he spat out as he spun around.

"Oh, you are aware?" Mycroft asked with a look of somewhat amused surprise. "I see. Well, I imagine then, that if you are aware of Dr. Charles marriage last month, you would also be aware that the new Mrs. Charles is _not_ the woman you knew as _Miss Molly Hooper._ " He looked at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock stared back at him, frozen where he stood. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "I...I...w-what do you mean he did not marry Miss Hooper? He, he said...he told me that she..." He left off trying to form a sentence and began moving again, slowly walking around his sitting room.

Mycroft smiled a little smugly as he watched this scene. "Perhaps you would like to hear what I have to say now, seeing as you are not as all knowing as you had previously claimed. Would you care to hear what Mummy shared with me? Or would you still prefer I take my leave?" He reached for his hat threateningly.

Sherlock immediately reclaimed his seat across from Mycroft and gave him a nod. "Tell me."

Mycroft smiled. "Glad to see I've got your attention. Apparently, not long after you left to search for James Moriarty, Dr. Charles did indeed propose marriage to Miss Hooper, as most of the town had been expecting. What was not expected was the fact that she refused him. It was quite the to-do for a while. Poor Dr. Charles was moping about town. Nobody could understand it. Seemed to everyone that she was a fool to turn him down. Why would a woman do such a thing?" Mycroft looked pointedly at his brother before continuing.

"Thankfully for Dr. Charles, his mood was soon to be improved. A couple of weeks after being so sadly rejected, he received some unexpected news. A great uncle of his had passed away, and it happened that he was the man's closest male relative. It also happened that this great uncle was-"

"Very wealthy," Sherlock finished, his eyes brightening as he put pieces of the puzzle together.

"Precisely. Overnight, Dr. Charles became a very wealthy man. Fortunately for the town, he did not desire to discontinue his medical practice, despite his new comfortable situation. Apparently medicine is what he loves, though he hardly needs to earn a living now. Sounds a bit familiar, but I digress. So, naturally, something else happened once Dr. Charles became a wealthy man. He suddenly became the most eligible bachelor in town." The corner of Mycroft's lips lifted a bit as he watched the wheels turn in Sherlock's head. "Can you guess who Dr. Charles suddenly attracted the attention of?"

Sherlock thought about how Tom had spoken of his new wife, and her connection and interest in him. His eyes widened as he looked back at his brother. "Miss Hawkins," he breathed out the moment of realization.

Mycroft nodded. "Very good. Miss Hawkins became Mrs. Charles last month, and they have been living in the Hawkins estate while their own new home is being constructed. He hardly needs to rent that small space in town anymore." Mycroft sat back against his chair and smiled, looking pleased with himself. "So...perhaps you are interested in the latest news after all."

Sherlock stared wide-eyed off into space. It all made sense of course, as he thought about it. Even his mention of Redbeard to Tom had fallen rather flat, which surprised him, but he'd thought little of it. Of course Tom had said little on the subject. He wasn't living with Redbeard! Perhaps he saw him occasionally, but that was all. All the things he said about his new wife made sense too. Of course Janine would be interested in him and how the case went, and she would have been sorry to miss seeing him. It had seemed so clear at the time, but he was so far from the truth...so far.

And yet, despite how much it all fit together, he could not wrap his mind around what he'd just learned.

"How could she...refuse him?" he said softly, as he shook his head, speaking to himself more than Mycroft. "Why would she do that?"

Mycroft leaned forward a bit closer. "Sherlock, I cannot imagine that this is the most perplexing mystery you have encountered."

Sherlock made eye contact with his brother again, frowning a little, indicating his surprise at what Mycroft was referring to.

"Honestly, Sherlock, I realize this is not exactly my area of expertise, but I was also present in the country during this past summer. Do you think that I am a blind fool?"

Sherlock leaned back in his own chair and Mycroft was sure he saw his brothers cheeks turn just a bit pinker. His eyes shifted nervously, and he gripped the arms of his leather chair, seeming in need of support.

Sherlock began hesitantly. "What there was between us, it was not- that is, I never said anything to her...or made any promises. When I left, I wanted her to be...free."

Mycroft tipped his head in acknowledgement of his brother's words. "Perhaps that was your design, but I would venture to say that Miss Hooper did not feel _free_ to accept Dr. Charles proposal. Or more accurately, perhaps she did not _want_ to be free to accept."

Sherlock shut his eyes for a moment and ran his hands through his hair. She had truly refused Tom. Had she really felt so much? Had she been so bound to him, that even when he was gone she couldn't actually let him go? He had convinced himself that she would move on, and quickly, after his departure. Sherlock was faced with the reality of having severely misjudged this woman. He had misjudged just how deeply she cared.

Mycroft's voice cut through his thoughts.

"I believe, Sherlock, that the question now is, what exactly are you going to do about it?"

Sherlock's eyes shot open and he looked at his brother in surprise. Mycroft wore a small, almost sneaky, smile. Sherlock, on the other hand, only looked back at him as if he had grown another head.

"What are you suggesting?" Sherlock questioned cautiously.

Mycroft stood up and put his hat on as he drew a breath. "I am not a sentimental man, Sherlock. I have no desire to dwell on _romance._ But, as you know, I am lately an infinitely happier married man than I had been in the past. I might even venture to say that I am simply a happier man, in general. Perhaps that is what has moved me to speak, and speak frankly. But you had better listen carefully, because I am only going to say this once."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and wore a slightly amused expression.

"Do not be a fool, Sherlock," Mycroft said, enunciating every word as he looked at his brother with a deadly serious expression. "If you love that woman, _tell her_. Tell her now. Do not waste time."

Sherlock's mouth slowly spread in a smile and he began chuckling. "You wantme to do this? I did not think it possible, but I may have just received a shock that is greater than the news of Miss Hooper remaining unmarried." He crossed his arms over his chest, looking back at his brother smugly.

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he turned to go to the door. "As I said, I am only expressing myself once. I do not think I need to clarify further. Besides, I would like to think you didn't need to hear me tell you what to do."

Sherlock stood from his seat and smiled slyly. "Oh, forgive me, were you telling me what to do? I was too busy working out the quickest route to Miss Hooper's home."

Mycroft smiled back. "Mm, that is about what I expected. And I imagine you've realized that the earliest you'd arrive would be in about a day and a half. That is...if you hire a carriage tomorrow morning."

Sherlock agreed pursing his lips. "Indeed. But if I were to go on horseback, and leave tonight..."

Mycroft opened the door to leave his brother's flat. "It is fascinating that you would bring up such an option. It just so happens I had one of my mares brought along tonight. I cannot imagine why I would have thought it needed, seeing as I came by carriage. But seeing as she is here...perhaps you could make use of her?"

"What are the chances?" Sherlock quipped in mock amazement. "In that case, I think I will use her."

"Well then," Mycroft said with a contented smile, "It seems you have somewhere to be. I'll not delay you. A safe ride, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded. "Goodnight, Mycroft...and thank you."

Mycroft tipped his hat and wasted no more time making his exit.

Sherlock turned around as he heard his brother descend the steps, and he felt a delicious thrill growing steadily in his chest. He rubbed his hands together and ran down the hallway to his room, fetching his waistcoat, jacket, and cravat. He knew he was about to ride all night, but he didn't care. If he was fast, he'd reach her by morning. He recalled feeling rather tired before his brother had arrived earlier. But now, he had never felt more alert, more alive. The way he felt at that moment, he swore he could have ridden for three days straight if it would have brought him to her.

He was done holding back. No more fear. No more uncertainty. He was ready to happily throw all of that away.

Not long after, while he drove the horse on as fast as she could go, he promised himself that by this time tomorrow, whatever the outcome was to be...

Molly Hooper would know how much he loved her.

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	21. Chapter 21

Molly pulled down her wooly shawl from the hook by the back kitchen door. It was becoming increasingly chilly, especially in the mornings. But she hardly had the luxury of spending the chilly mornings inside by the fire. As usual, Redbeard was excitedly clambering to get outside. Mrs. Hart was just coming into the kitchen as Molly unlatched the door to go outside.

"Morning, deary. I'll start some bread," the older woman said with an accompanying yawn.

"All right, Mrs. Hart. I'll give you a hand in a few minutes." Molly directed her following words to the excited dog pushing his way out the door. "As soon as you let me come back inside! You can't get enough exercise can you? No, you cannot!"

Molly stepped out into the grass behind her house and strolled leisurely as Redbeard bounded around happily. He did his business and then continued leaping about. Despite her fatigue and the chilly air, she never failed to smile as she watched him run around. He was so completely happy. She was happy to have him.

Of course every time she thought about how grateful she was to have him, she couldn't help but remember the fact that there was a man who owned this lovely dog...who may or may not be returning for him.

Molly let out a little sigh and pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders. It was too early to start with those sort of thoughts. She forced herself to run around a little bit with Redbeard and she threw him a nice stick a few times. Soon she had forgotten any of her sorrows. In the grand scheme of things, she knew she shouldn't spend time feeling sorry for herself. She'd made her choices, and she had no regrets.

Molly and Redbeard both slowed down and the happy dog went back to sniffing in the surrounding brush. Molly was getting ready to call him inside so she could get some tea and breakfast, but just then, Redbeard's head darted up from the grass he'd been sniffing. He barked once, then again...then he promptly took off running, leaving the back yard and disappearing around the corner of the house.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Molly groaned. Suddenly she wasn't feeling so terribly patient with the sweet animal. "Redbeard, come on, boy! Come, Redbeard!"

She began trudging through the grass in the back yard and making her way to go around the side of the house. She continued muttering words of irritation and occasionally calling for him.

"I cannot go running after you every day! Come on, Redbeard, come! I don't care if you saw that rabbit again!" As she rounded the corner she added. "If you get yourself lost, I will not be held responsible! You can try explaining to Mr. H-"

And that was where Molly's words stopped short. She halted in her tracks with her mouth hanging open, and his name left unfinished on her tongue...the name of the man who was crouched in the grass with Redbeard, staring back at her.

Sherlock rose to stand very slowly, but kept his eyes locked onto her. Molly had lost the grip on her shawl almost the second she saw him and stopped walking. Her hand came up and covered her still open lips. For a split second, she thought she might be imagining things in the dim misty light of morning. But then Sherlock took the first step toward her.

That was when Molly felt emotion crash over her, like a wave that had been building up many miles from the shore. Her vision clouded up as some tears filled her eyes. She knew he was real, and he was walking towards her, and it all seemed a lot to process for a typical Wednesday morning.

Molly finally shut her gaping mouth and brought her hands up to wipe the gathering moisture away from her eyes. He continued advancing toward her, wearing a very slight smile. As he came nearer, he produced a handkerchief from his jacket pocket.

"Forgive me, I- I don't know why I'm crying," she said quickly as he finally reached her and held out the piece of cloth.

"Don't you?" he said in an impossibly deep and surprisingly soft voice. His lips curled in a pleasant sort of smirk. "I have one or two theories."

Molly sobbed out a small laugh, and finished drying her eyes. She sniffed a bit and then reached down to pick up her shawl, which Redbeard was currently trampling all over as he jumped around the four legs that belonged to the two people he loved so much.

She composed herself quickly and didn't dissolve into a blubbering mess. "So, you're back. Well, not _really_ back I suppose. I mean, you aren't back to stay, surely. I just meant, um...you did what you set out to do?" Molly sighed internally, wondering how it was possible for her to be making such a fool of herself when he hadn't even been here for a full two minutes.

"I did, yes. I gather you had heard?"

"I did hear some things. It seems you did a wonderful thing for, well, for everyone...for England really."

"Mmm, I suppose so." Sherlock continued petting Redbeard who was standing on his hind legs for better access to his long absent master. He smiled down at his pet, then looked back to Molly. "He's grown. He'll not be a puppy for long now."

"I tried to tell him not to grow while you were away, but he refused to listen," she said with a smile. "So, I suppose he has not been completely obedient."

Sherlock laughed a little, but then his expression turned serious. "I missed him."

Molly searched his eyes and was surprised at what she saw. She was a little confused at what she saw looking back at her. He'd only said he missed his dog, and yet...

"I'm sure you did," she hastened to answer. "I think he missed you too. He would wander over to the front door sometimes, at odd hours. I think...I think he was waiting for you." She felt a lump in her throat growing in her throat again and had to work hard at swallowing it away.

Sherlock continued gazing back at her intensely. "I am so glad he did," he whispered.

Molly felt her pulse beginning to race. The way he spoke was making her question things, making her _hope_ for things. Unable to give in to the tone of his words quite yet, Molly continued trying to converse casually.

"I imagine you came back to get him. Time for him to become a city dog now, I suppose," she said with a forced smile.

"Soon, yes," was all Sherlock said in answer, and it almost looked like there was something he wasn't saying, as if there was a secret concealed behind his bright eyes.

All of a sudden though, Molly frowned a little, because she had begun to take in his entire appearance more carefully. She realized the fact that his hair was a bit disheveled, his cravat was half undone, he had a couple smudges of dirt on his face, and in his hair was a...

"Um, forgive me but, you have a...twig of some sort in your hair," she said, as a little amused smile grew on her lips.

Sherlock suddenly dropped the intense expression of longing he'd been wearing and frowned in embarrassment. He hadn't thought much about his appearance. He'd only been thinking of reaching his destination as quickly as possible. As it was he had arrived an hour later than was his plan since he felt the need to stop and get his horse some water and allow her a rest. But he was now very acutely aware of the fact that he might just look a terrible mess.

"Is there? Oh, I see." He cleared his throat as he reached up and found the offending piece of branch and discarded it. "I suppose I must be a bit of a mess. You see, I rode from London all last night."

Molly's eyes grew wide. "All last night? You mean you haven't slept? My goodness...you must have been awfully anxious to get Redbeard back."

Sherlock's gaze became a bit heated again. "Among other reasons," he murmured.

Molly felt the color rise in her cheeks and had to look away for a moment. She was beginning to wonder what had changed in the past couple of months. Was she hearing him correctly? She was becoming almost uncomfortable, standing there under the warmth of his stare and wondering what she should do or say next.

"Well, since you've been riding all night, why don't you come in and sit for a while. I'll get you some tea, and we can get you cleaned up a bit."

"Thank you, I'd like that." He was honestly glad for the offer. The long night was genuinely beginning to catch up with him, and he did want to rest.

Sherlock, Molly, and Redbeard went back inside through the kitchen door and Mrs. Hart's mouth spread in a grin.

"Mr. Holmes! What a pleasant surprise to see you again, sir!"

"You as well, Mrs. Hart." He smiled at the woman. "I do hope Redbeard was little bother to you."

"Oh, he's such a dear! We enjoyed having him about the house. We'll be sorry to see him go!"

"Well, I am glad to hear it."

"Mrs. Hart," Molly cut in. "Would you mind getting some tea started, and I'm going to heat some water for Mr. Holmes. He's been riding for a number of hours and would like to get cleaned up."

"Of course, Miss, right away." She started the tea as Molly directed Sherlock to exit the kitchen.

"If you'd like, you can just wait in my father's old office. I'll be in soon with a basin of water," Molly explained as Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen.

Sherlock smiled in response and went down the hall, letting himself into Dr. Hooper's office. But the moment he stepped inside, he found himself looking around the room in wonder. If there were any possible way for him to fall more in love with Molly Hooper, walking into a room and seeing this would be the way to make it happen.

A few minutes later, Molly came into the room holding the basin and a cloth. Sherlock was standing at the table gently touching the microscope that belonged to him. He looked up at her as she came over and set the water down.

"This is a laboratory," he said with an impressed little smile.

Molly blushed with some pride as she looked around the room and then back at him. "Yes, well, I did my best. It was difficult at first to make a change, but I felt it was what I needed. I loved this room exactly as it was, because it reminded me of my father. But I also began to feel that it was sad to keep it untouched for all eternity. I think he would have wanted me to use it, and to make it my own. I wanted a place where I could be happy and do things that I enjoy. And I've been ever so happy with it now. Even though it's not my father's office anymore, it's still a place of...remembering. I come here and I study things, and sometimes draw and it relaxes me. It gives me the peace that I need."

Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets as he glanced around the room again. "You did well. It is probably a better lab than I have at Baker Street."

"Oh, Baker Street?" she asked. "That is where you live in London, I assume."

Sherlock smiled as he looked back at her. She already felt like home to him, so it was sometimes hard to remember that she was not even familiar with 221B Baker Street. "Yes, it is. That's my home. And what are your...feelings on London."

Molly shrugged as she stuck the cloth in the warm basin of water. "It seems lovely to me. I've only been twice since after my father moved us here, and I should certainly love to go back someday."

Sherlock nodded, saying nothing, happily picturing her among the beauty of the city.

He walked over to the other side of the table where the basin was and pulled his already loosened cravat off. He had already removed his jacket after he'd walked in the room. He ran the warm cloth over the front and back of his neck as Molly stood by, looking as if she wasn't sure what to do with herself now. Redbeard had curled up comfortable on a blanket in the corner, which looked like a usual spot for him.

Sherlock stole a glance at Molly and they made brief eye contact. He continued wiping at his hands and arms, but couldn't help the impatience that was building quickly inside him. He'd never been terribly patient, once he knew what it was he wanted.

All at once, he stopped and placed the cloth back in the basin. He turned, hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the table, and smiled at Molly.

"Miss Hooper, would you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the wash basin and trying not to allow the sneaky grin to spread on his lips. "I can't see what's on my face."

"Oh, yes of course." She came over, wet the cloth again, wrung it out, and reached up tentatively to begin wiping at his face.

Molly tried to focus on what she was doing, instead of looking directly at him. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the memory of the first day they'd met, and had to smile as she thought about it. She also realized that there were some things that needed saying, though she was unsure of how to start. Best to just dive in...

"Mr. Holmes," she started slowly as she ran the cloth along his right hairline. "I think I should tell you that I...know something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not surprising. I assume you know many things."

"What I mean is, I know about something that you did. Something you did for my father..." She met his eyes. "And for me."

Understanding passed over Sherlock's face. "Ah, I see. I suppose I knew it was possible you would hear of it. People do talk."

Molly pressed her lips together for a moment as she dropped the hand holding the cloth. But she did not step back. "Why did you not tell me?"

Sherlock drew a breath. "At the time, I did not think it necessary. I had done what was needed, and there would be no further benefit by telling you that I did it. And then later, I felt that it may be...unwise to share those details with you. It may have been inappropriate, given the circumstances."

Molly couldn't help a little smirk. "How often do you care about propriety?"

"Not often," he conceded with a smile. "But I did not want to disrupt what was, shall we say, developing for you."

Molly nodded, understanding his meaning. "You may find it ironic then, to hear that I learned of your generosity from none other than Dr. Charles."

"Did you indeed?" he responded with some surprise. Then he narrowed his eyes playfully. "Clearly he was not frightened away."

 _Oh,_ she thought. _So he knows of Tom's proposal._ "No, I suppose he was not." Molly looked away again and continued the task of removing the dirt from his face.

There was a heavy silence for a moment, a sort of calm before the storm, and then Sherlock opened his mouth and spoke the words deep and soft.

"But you refused him."

Their eyes met and Molly saw the very slightest smile forming at the corner of his lips. She had to swallow hard to manage an answer.

"Yes, I did," she whispered, and then she shook her head a little. "I just, I couldn't. I know everyone thinks I'm foolish, but it does not matter...not really. It was my decision, and no one else's. He was a good man- _is_ a good man, but he wasn't...I just couldn't."

Sherlock examined Molly's face as she spoke and he resisted smiling too broadly quite yet. He watched as she looked away and dipped the cloth back in the water with fingers that were shaking just a bit. It was time...

He reached over and slowly wrapped his fingers around her hand, making Molly's breath catch in her throat. The cloth fell into the water, quickly forgotten. Sherlock examined her small damp hand which he now cradled in his own larger one. He took his other hand, covering over it, now enclosing it gently and bringing it back between them. Finally, he locked eyes with her again.

"I know," he murmured.

Molly could only stare back at him in half shock, half elation.

"I know...and I am sorry. I'm sorry that I've been such a fool," he said very seriously.

She managed to form words. "Have you been?" she whispered.

"I have. You see, I thought I knew what was best. I have always been in the habit of believing that I am in the right. In this case, it was almost the worst mistake I have ever made. I thought I knew better than my friends, and you, and my own heart...and even your father."

Molly's brow furrowed. "My father? What are you talking about?"

Sherlock's thumbs had begun softly moving over the skin on her hand as he spoke. He let out a short chuckle. "I suppose it is to be expected that he would not have shared such a thing with you...he had wished for us to marry."

Molly's mouth fell open and tears immediately sprung to her eyes. She used her free hand to wipe them away as best she could while they rolled down her cheeks. "D-did he say that to you?" she asked in a broken voice.

"He as much as asked me to marry you," Sherlock answered, and his tone had turned a little sad. He hadn't considered, until this moment, the fact that he would be adding to her grief. He was the reason that her father had to die without knowing whether if she would have the family and life she deserved.

Sherlock reached up and helped wipe a stray tear from her cheek before continuing. "At the time when he had spoken so plainly to me, I did not even believe that I would ever want a wife. I thought I knew better. Eventually...slowly...my feelings changed, yet I was still hesitant. By the time I decided to speak to you, I simultaneously convinced myself that you deserved a different sort of life than what I could offer you. I believed Dr. Charles _could_ offer you that life. Again, I thought I knew what was best."

"You left," she said between sniffles. "You left me thinking that I'd...you thought I would marry him, and still you said nothing."

Sherlock nodded. "I believed that if I left, and kept silent, you would move on. I knew, not being completely blind, that you held some regard for me. But I also believe that you liked Dr. Charles enough to let him give you a happy life. I was unsure that I could do such a thing, in the long term."

"Why?" she asked, shaking her head as she stared at him in wonder. "How could you think that? How could you believe that anyone could make me happier...than you?" Her voice broke again and another tear escaped.

Sherlock couldn't help a little smirk. "I was trying humility on for size...I don't think I like it."

Molly sobbed out a little laugh.

He reached up to wipe her face again, this time letting his hand stay, cradling the side of her face. He watched her tears stop and her eyes shut as she leaned into his touch.

He let his hand slide away, cleared his throat, and began speaking again. "I just learned last night, from my brother, that you had refused Dr. Charles' proposal. And I finally realized just how wrong I had been. I was wrong about what would make you happy, and what you would want. It also made me realize that perhaps it was not just that you didn't want Dr. Charles, but that you wanted...someone else."

Molly began to smile again, and suddenly Sherlock got nervous. Some of his insecurities about their possible union came flooding back and he felt the need to make sure she knew exactly what she was getting into. He began speaking rapidly.

"You do understand, don't you, that my life in London is almost nothing like your life here? I cannot pull you into a life that you do not want, no matter how we feel. The day could very well come when you resent me for it. That would be unfair to both of us. You should know that I don't sleep some nights. I stay away from the flat for days at a time...though I would make that a less frequent habit...I rarely eat when concentrating on a case. I play my violin when I'm thinking, often at odd hours, and my flat is really rather small. I become moody and difficult when I have no work, I can be moody and difficult when I _have_ work. In fact it would likely be simpler if I were to list for you the times when I am _not_ moody and diff-"

Sherlock was cut short when Molly reached her hand up and pressed her fingers against his lips, hushing him.

Molly smiled with a gleam in her eyes. "Mr. Holmes, I do not claim to be some sort of expert, but I feel very sure that I should stop you right here. You may be going about this the wrong way. Perhaps a bit out of order. There may be something you should say first."

Sherlock frowned for a moment as Molly removed her fingers from his mouth, then realization hit him. _Ah yes, probably best to actually propose before flooding her with the reasons why her life would be so different once we were married._

"Ah, yes," he agreed.

He cleared his throat as he renewed his grasp on her hand and looked back at her, trying to think of the right words. It was difficult, with her smiling back at him already. What he really wanted to do was to simply pull her into his arms, kiss her, and marry her on the spot. _Words!_ he reminded himself. _Say it!_

"Molly Hooper, what I am about to say are words that, for most of my life, I had not ever imagined saying. I suppose that is fitting though, considering I never imagined that I would meet a woman like you. I never imagined a woman like you could exist at all. You took me completely by surprise, and that is no small thing. What I am trying to say is that, despite my best efforts to remain indifferent, you left me no choice but to fall in love with you."

Molly bit her lip as she smiled listening to him speak. She could hardly believe what she was hearing, let alone that it was coming from his beautiful lips.

"And now that I have come to my senses, what I want, and I very much hope that you want as well...is for you, Molly, to be my wife." He stared forward, eyes locked on hers; almost unable to believe he'd just said those very words. And he could hardly believe that it felt like her answer had the rest of his life's happiness connected to it.

Molly began to wonder how many times she was going to start crying this morning. But naturally, more tears had formed as she heard him finally propose, so she had to wipe them away before answering. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron before reaching down and grasping both his hands and grinning at him.

"Yes, of course I want that. I want to be your wife. God knows I would have said yes months ago!" She let out a laugh. "But it doesn't matter now. I do not care how long it took you to realize what was right. What matters now is that we have the rest of our lives to be together. And before you start saying a thousand things again, I don't care where that life takes us. I don't care if it's in London, or here, or anywhere else! And there is nothing that you've told me, or that I've seen in months past, that makes me any less willing to share my life with you. In fact, I cannot _wait_ to share my life with you."

A grin spread on Sherlock's mouth that matched Molly's. He reached up and grasped her face gently, touching his forehead to hers. What happened next could hardly be attributed wholly to either one of them, because without verbal communication, each of them moved forward at the very same moment, and at the very same speed. So when their mouths finally met, it was with a harmony as beautiful and satisfying as actual notes played in a chord.

Molly let out a sigh and felt herself melt just a little. She reached up and placed her hands on his chest, enjoying the thrilling feeling of his heat pounding against her palm. How many times had he made her heart beat that fast? And now she knew that he felt the same. She could literally feel it.

The kiss was relatively tame, considering that it was Molly's first kiss and Sherlock's first _real_ kiss. He didn't exactly count those couple of times on an undercover case. As he slowly pulled away, he was overwhelmed with the complete sensory experience. He'd seen, heard, touched, and smelled her before. But now he had tasted her lips, and it was as if the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. It left him feeling full, like she was everywhere, all around him and coursing through his veins. And yet, there was also a newfound hunger...because he was very sure he would never have enough.

Sherlock gazed back at her, still holding her face. "We will marry in a week," he said in a slightly husky voice.

Molly let out a shaky giggle as she grasped his hands and held them, removing them from her face. "Mr. Holmes-"

"Sherlock," he quickly urged. "Please call me Sherlock now."

Molly gave him an official little nod, then spoke again. "All right, _Sherlock,_ I was going to say that a weeks' time is not really enough. We have to have at least three weeks to-"

"No, no. That won't be necessary. I will get a license and we will have no need of these silly traditions and added time!" he said with a roll of his eyes.

"I honestly do not mind. There's no need for the added expense and trouble. Besides, there will surely be things to take care of and plan, and goodness knows those things take time..." Molly would have continued on, but she was cut short.

Sherlock hopped down from the table he was sitting on. He took Molly by the waist and turned them around quick as lightening. With one arm locked around her waist and his other hand behind her neck, he leaned down and kissed her again. This time was quite different. Molly quickly reacted by sliding her arms around Sherlock's neck as this kiss made leaps and bounds beyond the one he'd given her only moments before.

After Sherlock had successfully conveyed the message to his bride to be, he pulled away and looked down at her with his eyes as much on fire as hers.

"Well, um," Molly cleared her throat. "If you would prefer to get a license, I suppose that would be fine."

He gave her a pleased smile as he watched the bright color very slowly fade from her face. "I'm glad you agree. I had a feeling that I would be able to help you understand my...logic."

Just then, Sherlock felt something moving around his ankle. He frowned as he tuned a bit and looked down. He thought it hadn't felt like Redbeard, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw an orange tabby cat winding around his leg.

"Molly, that is a cat," he stated, staring down at the purring animal.

She giggled a little as she watched his reaction. "I am pleased to see your skills of deduction remain untouched by sleep deprivation. Yes, that is indeed a cat. His name is Toby. He likes you!"

"What is he doing here?" Sherlock watched as the cat strolled over to sniff around at Redbeard where he lay.

"He just started coming around about a month ago. He wasn't even full grown then, but he's just about an adult now I think. I believe he was homeless before, but he took a liking to us and seems to have adopted us. Even Redbeard seems to tolerate him rather well." Molly smiled as she watched the dog snuffle a little as he tried to sleep despite the cat's interest. "They certainly don't try to kill each other at least."

"I see," Sherlock said, observing the scene as well. "Well, as I said, my London flat is hardly spacious...but I suppose we can discuss it."

"I suppose there is a fair bit that needs to be discussed. What about my father's house, and what about the few staff I still have, and where we will go after the wedding." She shut her eyes for a moment then opened them wide. "Forgive me, I can hardly believe this is happening!"

"I know." He smiled back. "And we will discuss it all, I promise. It will all be sorted as quickly as possible. Perhaps I can send the carriage for you tonight and we can work out some of the details."

Molly looked excited. "All right, that sounds wonderful."

A bit of the excitement drained from Sherlock's features though, and Molly noticed right away.

"Sherlock, what is it? Is anything wrong?"

He tilted his head in thought. "I wouldn't say there's anything exactly _wrong._ But there is something I will need to do."

"Oh? What is that?"

"Well," he began slowly, looking a little apprehensive. His expression already made Molly want to giggle, even before he uttered his next words.

"I shall need to have a little talk...with Mummy."


	22. Chapter 22

"My goodness!" Lady Holmes exclaimed as she entered the sitting room and saw her youngest son rise to greet her. She rushed over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I could not believe it when they told me who was here! What a wonderful surprise! I did not imagine I would be seeing you again for quite a few months. To what do I owe this pleasure? I imagine you are here on some sort of specific errand, and not simply to see your poor mother."

Sherlock smirked at the little dig she got in as they sat on the couch. "You are right, of course. I am here for a reason. I have come to share some news."

"Really? Well I do hope it is nothing to do with that Moriarty fellow. I had heard that went rather well, though I am still waiting for your brother to write me back in more detail."

"No, it is nothing to do with him. And you are right, that went as well as could be expected. No, this is news of a more...personal nature."

Lady Holmes began to look concerned. "Darling, are you well?" she asked while reaching out to take her son's hand.

Sherlock sighed. "I am quite well, Mother. This is nothing to do with my health. What I needed to say is that as of this morning...I am engaged to be married." He met his mother's eyes and she stared back at him in silence for a moment.

Finally, Lady Holmes found her voice. "Sherlock, darling, I have heard that you occasionally do awfully odd things in the name of your work. Please tell me that this is nothing to do with a case."

"No," he said slowly. "It is nothing like that."

"And you haven't got some woman into any sort of...delicate situation."

Sherlock frowned and made a comical expression of horror. "What? No! No, there is nothing of that sort. This is nothing out of the ordinary. I am simply getting married because...I want to." He spoke the words with purposeful clarity, trying to get the point across.

Lady Holmes expression relaxed a bit, but clearly she was still stunned. "I see. Well...I do hope she is of good reputation and breeding."

This was the part that Sherlock was dreading more specifically. But he needed to be done with it. No point in prolonging the inevitable.

"There is no need for guessing games. You know her, so the simplest thing would be for me to tell you who she is." Sherlock swallowed. "The woman I am marrying is Miss Molly Hooper."

Lady Holmes eyes widened a bit and Sherlock saw her lips parting, but he didn't give her the chance to speak, jumping in again instead.

"Before you say another word, I think it is imperative that you understand something. I have come to you today to share this news, not because I am searching for either permission or blessing. This marriage will go forward and I will spend the rest of my natural life with Molly Hooper whether you give any approval or not. You are my mother, and as such, I will love and respect you regardless. But I am only here in order to share this news with you and tell you what _will_ take place. And if you have any remarks which are at all outside the bounds of congratulations and acceptance, they will be spoken _here, now,_ and _never again._ You may say whatever you wish to me, but I will not stand for my future wife and mother of my children having to hear one word of rejection. If you cannot abide by that, we will be forced to keep our distance."

Lady Holmes raised an eyebrow and gave him a weary smile, making him feel as if he were suddenly sitting next to Mycroft. "Are you quite finished with your dramatic little speech, Sherlock?"

He shifted his eyes nervously and cleared his throat. "Yes, I believe so," he answered quickly.

"Excellent," she answered. "Perhaps now I can manage to get a word in. Apparently it will come as a shock to you that I have no, as you put it, words of rejection to speak."

Sherlock's shoulders slowly began to relax.

"I suppose I can understand why you felt the need to come in here as if you were ready for battle, but I assure you that it is not necessary. Any shock that you have witnessed on my face was due to the fact that you are marrying _at all_ , and has little or nothing to do with _who_ you have chosen as a wife. Understand, Sherlock, that I had recently set my mind to accepting the fact that my youngest child would always be alone. I did not want it, but I felt I had to accept it. And granted, Miss Hooper is not the woman I would be likely to hand pick for you." Her expression softened into a smile as she gave her son's hand a squeeze. "But if you think that I will not love that woman as if she were my own flesh and blood, then you do not know me at all."

Sherlock's lips spread into a small smile as well, and he released a breath he'd been holding. He hadn't realized it mattered, but now that he had his mother's approval...he was glad.

"She is not like the former Miss Hawkins, of course," she continued. "But in all honesty, I cannot imagine how such a match would suit you. I cannot see someone like Miss Hawkins enduring the sort of existence that you live in London! But I can see Miss Hooper being comfortable with your work and your...unique personality. She is a good woman, Sherlock. I can honestly say that."

"Thank you, Mother. I am sure she will be especially pleased to hear it. In fact, you will be able to speak to her yourself this evening. I will be sending the carriage for her later. There is much that needs planning."

"Of course!" she said excitedly. "And you must have the wedding here!"

"I see little else as an option. Hardly time to move everyone, seeing as we will marry in about a week's time."

Lady Holmes gasped. "A week?! Sherlock! You cannot be serious! Good Lord, it is one extreme or another with you and your brother isn't it?"

Sherlock shrugged as he got up. "We wouldn't want you getting bored. Have to keep you guessing. Now, I am off to get some sleep, seeing as I got none last night. But I will see you at dinner, and we can all make some plans."

He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek, leaving her to process the news she'd just received. She sat there smiling to herself, looking over by the fire and remembering things from so long ago. She could so clearly picture the little boy sitting cross legged by the fire with his mop of dark curls bent over a large book. There was a time when she believed she'd never see such a thing again in this house.

Lady Holmes controlled the lump in her throat, and smiled, knowing that her children were happy. And for any mother, there is really little else that matters.

* * *

Many hasty plans were made in the next couple of days. There was nothing to do but buy a dress in one of the local shops and alter it as best they could with what time they had. Word was quickly sent to Mycroft and Anthea, and they were told to hurry if they wanted to make it for the wedding. Sherlock did obtain a license, allowing them to marry in the church as soon as they pleased.

He also got some lovely news soon after arriving back at Seaborne. Apparently the Watsons had recently written to Lady Holmes, informing her that they would be stopping at Seaborne at the close of their bridal tour. Sherlock had been afraid he would have to do without his friend and cousin at his wedding, if he wanted it to go ahead on schedule. But since they would be arriving home so soon, he was thrilled that they would indeed make it back in time.

So, three days after Sherlock's arrival, the carriage arrived which had Mary and John aboard. He was pleased to be able to stand there at the door, waiting to see the look of shock on their faces.

"I can't believe you are here!" John exclaimed. "I never expected to see you till we got back to London!"

"Yes, well I made an unexpected visit. You see, I needed to be here. Though I won't be staying for more than another few days."

"What is it?" Mary asked. "What's going on?"

Sherlock wore a pleased smile. "It is certainly fortunate you've stopped at Seaborne before London. Since you have, you'll be just in time...for my wedding to Miss Hooper."

Both of their mouths dropped open and Mary began to cry. "Oh, Sherlock! Truly?"

"Yes, Mary, really," he said with a laugh. "Honestly, is it going to be this difficult to convince everyone?"

John shook his hand firmly and soon they were all happily sitting around the fire, hearing all the things they'd missed while being apart. John and Mary had heard little of the Moriarty case outcome, and of course wanted all the details of Sherlock's proposal. It was a very happy reunion for all of them.

Sherlock visited Molly every day for that following week before they were to marry. Each time he found it much more difficult to walk away and go home alone. Every touch, every kiss, every look, bound them together tighter. In both of their hearts, they already belonged to each other.

Mary practically had to pry Molly out of the room on the night before the wedding. By that day, Molly had been moved into the estate, making all the next day's activities easier.

"You need your rest!" Mary urged Molly, tugging at her even though Sherlock was still holding onto her hand.

Sherlock stepped forward before Mary could pull her away and bent down, kissing her as if there was nobody else in the room. Mary and Anthea exchanged a grin as the men groaned and averted their eyes.

"Tomorrow," Sherlock murmured as he pulled away slowly and looked down at his very red cheeked bride to be.

"Tomorrow," she whispered back, and finally left the room with Mary.

Anthea whispered something to Mycroft, kissed him on the cheek, and hurried out of the room as well, following Mary and Molly upstairs. It appeared there was something rather pressing to be discussed between the three women...

Sherlock sat back on the couch across from John and noticed that his friend was grinning at him with arms crossed over his chest.

"What?" Sherlock spat out.

"Oh, I just cannot see why everyone must always _rush_ marriage along," John said with a satisfied smile, recalling Sherlock's own words from months ago.

Sherlock looked a little embarrassed as he recalled the conversation as well. He gave John a little smirk in return. "Well...perhaps I'll explain it to you when you're a bit older."

John chuckled. "I am in no need of explanations on that subject anymore!"

Mycroft set his glass on the table by the fire and got up with a sigh. "Do leave me out of this particular conversation. I believe I shall retire for the night. I will see you both in the morning."

He made a quick exit, causing Sherlock and John to exchange a laugh.

John stopped laughing though, and cleared his throat as he spoke again. "In all seriousness, perhaps this would be the time for a...conversation."

Sherlock frowned and snorted out another laugh. "Honestly, Watson, I am not an idiot. Especially considering I am a man of science...I know things."

"Well, yes, I realize you may grasp certain things. But that does not automatically make you an expert at something like this. This is different. You and Miss Hooper, together...that is not science."

"I beg to differ, Watson. Ultimately it is science," he said confidently.

John laughed in his head. Of course this is how a man to man chat with his best friend would go on the night before his wedding! "All right, I will admit that it does ultimately all come down to a sort of science. But what I mean is, it's not _about_ science. For men like us, fortunate men like us, who's marriages are founded on genuine affection, it is something very different. It isn't science, or duty, and it is not even necessarily about children. It all boils down to the fact that you love her, and she loves you, and you both desperately want to express that...in a way that goes beyond words. You are figuratively telling her that you love her, and listening to her expressing the same. If you remember nothing else, remember that."

Sherlock stared back at his friend evenly, not wanting to give away the fact that John's words had made a bit of impact. He said nothing, so John spoke again.

"I'll say no more, lest this becomes a bit uncomfortable."

Sherlock put on a half-smile again. "Oh, I was not aware we hadn't reached that moment already."

This sent both men into another round of laughter.

Through John's continued giggles, he managed to say, "I think I must retire as well. Though I imagine Mary will be a long while."

"Why?" Sherlock asked as John got up to leave.

John shook his head at his friend. "Try some deduction. What sort of conversation do you imagine the three of them are having at this very moment?"

Sherlock swallowed hard.

"Exactly." John laughed as he went through the door. "Good night, Holmes, and do try and get some sleep."

Sherlock did exactly as he was told. He went to his room with Redbeard, and did his best to settle down. It wasn't easy, but he knew John was right. He caved and let Redbeard climb onto the bed with him.

The dog was asleep in no time, but it took a bit longer for the detective who's mind was still racing.

* * *

The wedding itself was a blur, as it commonly is. For Sherlock and Molly, it was a blur because they weren't paying attention to much of anything besides each other. But they happily went through the motions at the church, and then back at the estate.

Molly looked like something out of a dream. She wore a delicate white muslin gown. There weren't loads of adornments or frills, but it fit her beautifully and she looked as if she were glowing. It was a treat for her, having been confined to her small array of mourning attire for so long. She felt like she'd been reborn in the spring after a lengthy winter, despite the fact that it was late October and the air was awfully chilly all around her.

Sherlock looked much like his typical self, except for the finer vest made of white silk that he wore beneath his jacket. He hadn't cared much for exactly what he would wear, but his mother insisted on making sure his attire was just right. He wasn't terribly sorry later though.

He stood to the side of the room with Molly, and Redbeard sitting by their feet, hoping that none of the guests would come and steal her away again for the hundredth time. She turned toward him and very briefly ran her finger tips over the soft fabric.

"This vest is beautiful," she whispered, looking up at him. "You look perfect...I'm impressed."

"Well," he breathed out as he wove his fingers into hers. "I suppose I am glad I let my mother have a say."

"I'm glad your mother had a say in my attire as well. I still find it hard to believe she was able to have this completed in time."

"My mother can be as persuasive as I can," Sherlock said with a smile.

"I like her," Molly said honestly. "I think I shall actually miss her when we are in London."

They had made some decisions in that past week about their living situation. Molly did not need convincing that their primary residence should be at 221B Baker Street in London. The idea was actually thrilling to her. But they also agreed that Molly's family home should be kept. They decided that it would be an excellent place for them when they were in the country. The grand estate of Seaborne had its marvels, but it was not home to Molly. And besides the basement laboratory, Sherlock hardly felt at home there himself anymore.

It had been agreed upon that the couple would come back and visit in the country at least once a year. Though, secretly, Molly told Lady Holmes that she would do her best to coax a second visit out of Sherlock. The older woman had given her an affectionate smile and a pat on the cheek.

"I wish we were leaving right now," Sherlock whispered impatiently.

"We would be riding by carriage all the rest of today and tonight. We wouldn't arrive in London till some time tomorrow morning. Besides, the thought of traveling right now is awful! I know I will be much happier to make the journey tomorrow."

Sherlock and Molly had decided to spend their wedding night at Seaborne, and then depart for London the next day. The following night would be spent at an inn along the way, and then they would be home to Baker Street by the next day. A bridal tour wasn't something that seemed necessary to either of them. Sherlock wanted to be back in London for the purpose of taking cases if necessary, and Molly wanted to make herself at home in the Baker Street flat. What they really wanted was to be together, and be at home.

"I suppose it's fine," he conceded. "Though I am still growing a bit weary of this crowd," he said with a sigh.

"Oh congratulations!" exclaimed a voice behind them.

They both turned to see Tom and Janine approaching them and grinning. Their brief moment of blissful solitude had ended, and Sherlock was dearly wishing he could think of a way to get all these people to leave. Molly gave his hand a squeeze, signaling him to put on a happy face as they greeted Dr. and Mrs. Charles.

Another couple of hours passed before the group of guests began to slowly thin out. Sherlock finally broke free of the group of gentlemen that had been holding him captive and chatting about stupid things he cared nothing for. As he scanned the room, he couldn't see his new wife. He caught a glimpse of Mycroft leaning down to press a kiss to his wife's cheek as he gently laid a hand on her growing belly. Sherlock had to smile to himself, wondering if he ever could have imagined seeing such a thing some months ago.

Just as he was beginning to think he'd already failed as a husband and misplaced Molly, Mary came up to him.

"I wager you are looking for someone."

"I am. Any clues to offer?" Sherlock asked with a teasing smile.

"Yes, actually. In fact, I have a message for you. The new Mrs. Holmes asked me to tell you that she is waiting for you on the terrace." Mary stood on tip toes and gave her cousin a kiss on the cheek. "Congratulation again, Sherlock. Have Molly come to call once you are settled back in London. I will want to see how she is adjusting and offer support in any way I can."

Sherlock frowned. "Why should she need support?"

Mary laughed. "Sherlock, one thing you will learn from having a wife, it is that there are certain needs a women has which can only be fulfilled by the company of another woman. It is no great insult to the men who love us, but it is a universal truth. Learn to accept it and your life will be better for it."

"I will take your word for it, cousin. Now, if anyone looks for us, do make our excuses. I very much hope to disappear from this moment on," he said as he went down the hall and gave Mary one more wave.

Mary waved back and smiled happily to herself as she watched him walk away. She couldn't possibly be any happier for them.

The remainder of the sunshine was beginning to dip below the horizon as Sherlock walked to the wall of glass doors which opened onto the large terrace. He saw her, facing the glowing orange sky with her hands resting on the stone rail. It was an image that conjured a pleasant memory. So much had happened, and it seemed like an eternity since the last time he'd seen her standing there, just like that.

"It is hard to believe," he began, making her turn. "But I would venture to say that you are even more beautiful than the last time I followed you onto this terrace."

Molly grinned as he approached and slid his hands around her waist. "Is it the dress, do you think? Does it make such an impact?" she asked playfully.

"No," he answered in a deep murmur. "It is because now you are my wife."

He leaned down pressing a kiss to her lips. His hands anchoring more firmly around her back and Molly couldn't help but wrap her own arms around his neck. The kiss quickly became passionate, but after a moment, she pulled away.

"I confess I did not lure you onto the terrace in order to seek out your kisses," she said as she reached around her back to retrieve his hands.

"Oh, but you hardly seem to mind, _Molly_." He had quickly learned that softly speaking her name was a very easy way to make her smile. It was a simple thrill; that of using each others given names.

"Yes well," she brushed a wave of hair from her forehead. "For now, though, I had wanted to do something different. I was thinking that it had been a terribly long time since we had a dance."

Sherlock's mouth spread in a grin. "It has indeed. I do hope you have not forgotten everything I taught you," he said as he placed his right hand around her waist and took her hand in his left.

"Perhaps I have been practicing." She gave him a proud smile as they began moving easily along the terrace.

"You have been practicing," Sherlock said with a pleased nod of his head. "I think you will be sadly disappointed when you see how little room there is for dancing at Baker Street."

"We shall make room," she said while wrapping her hand a little further around his shoulder.

Sherlock responded in kind, holding her tighter and closer as they continued dancing. Their rhythm slowed as their feet kept moving in step, and the light began to fade even more. It was only around five in the evening, but given the time of year, the darkness would quickly begin to descend.

After another couple of minutes, Molly lifted her head and looked up at her husband, summoning a little boldness. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, gazing down at her. He stopped dancing as he felt her feet come to a stop as well.

"I was thinking that I would...go upstairs now." She searched his eyes carefully with her own, willing herself not to look away shyly.

Sherlock spoke slowly as his eyes smiled down at her. "All right. If that is what you would like."

Molly nodded. "It is." She stood on tip toe suddenly and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly in an embrace.

Sherlock buried his face in her neck, feeling the little curls at her hairline tickle his nose. Her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation and she was further resolved to make her way to their chambers.

Molly finally separated from him and took a few steps away. "Would you give me a few minutes?" she asked with a slightly apologetic expression.

Sherlock smiled. "Take your time."

She smiled at him one more time before turning and leaving the terrace.

Sherlock watched her leave, the white muslin billowing out behind her as she turned the corner and disappeared. He smiled to himself as he turned and walked back to the edge of the terrace. He breathed the cool night air deep into his lungs as he stared out into the rapidly darkening sky. He could never have imagined that this would be his life.

And it was difficult to believe he had ever wanted anything different.

* * *

Molly had the help of a lady's maid in order to easily get out of her wedding gown, and into her nightdress. It was faster that way, despite the fact that she was a little too nervous to be dealing with any strangers at the moment. So as soon as the basic work was done, she politely dismissed the young woman and was left alone in the large bed chamber.

Molly sat down at the vanity and stared back at herself after she'd completely taken her hair down. She ran her fingers through, making it flow to one side...then to the other, not able to content herself with how it looked. She let out a slow breath, trying to relax a bit. _I wanted to go upstairs,_ she told herself. _Why am I picking this moment to suddenly become a nervous child?_

She looked around the room, trying to distract herself with the loveliness. The bedroom was beautiful, and had a large fireplace which was blazing and crackling comfortingly. The big canopy bed with obviously expensive bedding was incredibly inviting, though she didn't want to be the first to disturb it.

They had been set up in the finest guest wing that Seaborne had to offer. Sherlock had originally said they could spend the night in his room, but his mother protested, saying that his room was not nearly fine enough. "Your bedroom is not much better kept than your laboratory!" she had said, and finally Sherlock had agreed.

Molly stood and walked over to the nearby full length mirror. She ran her hands over the long flowing fabric that graced her body. The nightdress she had put on was so incredibly beautiful. She imagined that it could have cost almost as much as her wedding gown. It was made of very fine soft cotton, with long loose arms, and delicate lace that accented the cuffs. The neckline was wide, barely perching on her shoulders, and dipped down in a slight V-shape. The same lovely lace on the cuffs was also sewn onto the neckline. It was much finer than she would have chosen for herself, but she was very grateful to have been given such a lavish gift.

Anthea had presented it to her the night before. It was from her, but also from Irene Adler. She had heard of Sherlock's unexpected impending marriage and been very pleased to send something along. The note from her had said...

_Congratulations, Miss Hooper. You have done what most women thought to be impossible. My best wishes on your married life. I wanted to give both you and Mr. Holmes something special. I thought this would do nicely._

_Be sure to make him beg._

_-Miss I. Adler_

Molly had blushed about three different shades of red after reading that note and pulling out the beautiful garment.

Molly finally left the mirror and strolled over to a small table, examining a crystal decanter and matching glasses that sat on it. She opened the top of the decanter and took a sniff...port. She made a slight grimace. It certainly wasn't her personal taste, but in a case like this, she was willing to take what she could get. She poured a couple of ounces into one of the glasses and swallowed it all down as quickly as she could.

She then proceeded to feel like an even bigger child due to the coughing fit that lasted for the next couple of minutes. It burned much more than she'd expected. But after that went away she did feel a bit of relaxing warmth spreading inside, almost as if she had moved closer to the fire. So she supposed it was worth the pain.

At that point she began looking around the room, trying to decide where she should be. She could sit back at the vanity or perhaps on the settee by the fire, or she could get in the bed...no she didn't want to be in the bed already when he came in. Too eager perhaps. Besides, he wouldn't get to see the nightdress. She frowned at herself. Was she supposed to make sure he sees the nightdress? Would he even care? According to Mary and Anthea, her new husband would likely care about little else than the fact that she was with him.

Molly shook her head, knowing that she was over thinking all of this. She had just plopped herself down to sit on the edge of the bed (after considering, but eventually deciding against another glass of port) when she heard the knock at the bedroom door.

"It's me," Sherlock called through the door.

"Come in," she answered, and the door opened...

  
  
Artwork by [SelenaGuardi](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com)  



	23. Chapter 23

Sherlock slowly stepped into the candle and fire lit room. He had removed his jacket, vest and cravat, and replaced them with a dressing gown over his shirt. He looked exactly as Molly had imagined he might, and it made her smile. That beautiful man right there...that was her husband.

Little did Molly know, but Sherlock almost tripped over his own feet when he walked in and took in her entire appearance. Her bare feet and calves peeked out from under the hem of the nightdress and hung over the side of the bed. Despite the loosely flowing fabric of her nightdress, the curves of her petite body were still highlighted. The waves of her chestnut hair, which picked up some of the reddish glow from the fire, cascaded over one shoulder and framed her face. Sherlock had never seen Molly look anything like this, but somehow she still managed to look like home. He closed the door behind him, but stayed standing by the door, just staring at her and grasping the oil lamp tightly in his hand.

"Hello," she finally said.

"Hello," he answered softly.

Molly cracked a smile. "Are you going to stay over there?"

Sherlock gave his head a little shake, trying to think clearly. He blew the lamp out, set it down on the little table by the door, and finally began walking slowly over.

"Forgive me, I..." He sat down next to her on the edge of the bed and met her eyes. "I never thought I'd be here."

Molly laughed a little. "Never?"

"Well," he clarified. "Not until recently."

"I suppose I can say the same. If you had told me over a week ago that I would be here...like this...I never would have believed it. To be here with you..." she stopped and shook her head. "It's like it isn't real."

Sherlock's hand drifted over to where hers was on the bed and he felt some of the delicate fabric around her wrists between his fingertips. "This is new. I like it. A gift?" he asked, smiling a little.

"Yes, actually, it was. It was from Anthea and that friend of yours in London, Miss Adler."

Sherlock's eyes widened a bit. "Really? Well, I suppose it is good to know she's happy for us."

"She had feelings for you, didn't she?" Molly asked, now absentmindedly running her fingers over his hand on the bed.

Sherlock shrugged. "Only as much as Irene Adler is capable of having feeling for someone. She certainly never wished to marry me. She has no wish to marry at all. That was never her interest."

"But she was interested in _something_ , wasn't she?" Molly asked in a teasing tone. It was rather enjoyable being able to ask him things like this now. He was her husband, and she his wife, and there was nothing they could not discuss. No subject was off limits or inappropriate.

Sherlock smiled slyly. "Perhaps she was. Her interest was ultimately unrequited, I might add."

"I should hope so," Molly said in a mock indignant tone.

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock spoke again. "So they left some port in the room for us."

"Oh, you saw it?"

"No..." He looked amused. "But I can smell it."

Molly blushed and smiled in embarrassment. "Oh of course, you can...figure that sort of thing out. Sorry, I just, I thought maybe I needed to..."

"Do you feel the need to be intoxicated tonight?" he asked, and now he wasn't even trying to hide the teasing.

"No!" She laughed along with him, but when her laughter stilled she laced her fingers through his and looked at him seriously. "I do not need anything. Not really. I was nervous when I was here alone, but now that we are here together, I have never felt more comfortable than I do at this moment. I haven't been this happy in a very long time. This whole past week has been so completely different from the past couple of months. The only way I can imagine being any happier right now would be if my father could have been alive and with us today."

Sherlock squeezed her hand and paused for a moment. "I think he knew it would happen," he whispered, and meant it.

"Do you?" she whispered back.

"I do. He saw that we were right for each other. I imagine he knew that it was only a matter of time before I came to realize that for myself."

"I am glad he was able to know you so well before his death. I wish he were still here, but I am glad for what little time we all had together. And I would like to believe you're right. Perhaps he did know that you would eventually come to your senses." She elbowed him lightly.

"On occasion it takes me some time. But I always get there eventually."

"Thank goodness it didn't take you any longer than this!" she said with a giggle as she leaned over.

Molly pressed a kiss to his cheek. Once she'd placed her lips there, she couldn't help but let them linger against his skin. She pulled back very slowly, but didn't move away completely. Instead she rested her chin on his shoulder. Sherlock turned to face her, causing their noses to touch softly.

"Do you remember, at the start of the summer, when you told me that each person around us is a sort of mystery to be solved?" Sherlock murmured.

"Mm, I do. You were such a mystery to me then."

Almost as if he couldn't resist a magnetic pull, he closed the distance for just a moment and gave her a warm kiss before speaking again.

"I think you will always be my mystery. It almost frightens me to think that I may never know everything there is to know about you." he said softly before moving in again. The next words he spoke were against her lips. "What if I can't truly...solve you?"

Molly's hand came up to rest on the side of his face. "You will. You'll solve some things. But then there will be other ways that we'll never stop learning about each other. And isn't that beautiful? That's one of the most beautiful things about spending your life with one person. There's never a dull moment. I know I shall never be bored," she said before giving his nose a little kiss.

She was right. _How ironic?_ he thought. The one thing that always seemed so dull to him in years past, marrying a woman and sharing a life together, was actually one of the most thrilling things he'd ever encountered. It truly was like a lifelong mystery. And as long as he kept working at it, there was no losing, even if he never found out all there was to know. The searching, learning, and growing would never end.

"I shall never be bored either," he whispered, and then he kissed her again, harder this time.

Molly smiled against his mouth. "Is there anything in particular that you would like to solve...right now?"

Although Sherlock had no desire to think about John Watson at this particular moment, he couldn't help but recall the words of wisdom that his friend had spoken the day before. As much as he hated to admit it, it was probably something he had needed to hear.

"Not exactly." He turned his body a bit more toward her as he answered, and he ran his fingers along the lace covered neckline till they reached the top of her shoulder. His fingers stopped there, poised for what might happen next. "I love you so much, so deeply that it almost hurts. I have, of course, been able to tell you that over this past week. But now that you are my wife, and I am your husband...I would very much like to _show you_ that love _._ "

Molly stared back at him, her gaze moving up and down from his eyes to his lips. At that moment, she was very sure she had never heard a better idea in all her life. She slid her fingers into the hair around the back of his head. The words she spoke were barely audible, but he heard them, mostly because he was already so riveted to her lips.

"Show me."

That was all that was needed.

There was an urgency and impatience in that first kiss following Molly's soft spoken words. Soon after though, the urgency was done away with. The world around them dissolved and time no longer existed. And that was because Sherlock did exactly what he set out to do. His only care was telling his wife how much he loved her...in a expression that went beyond words. He didn't care how long that took, because nothing else mattered. He just wanted her to know.

And she did.

* * *

"Hurry up, Sherlock! I'm freezing all by myself!" Molly said with a laugh as she huddled further under the covers.

He was crouched down in front of the fireplace, wrapped in his dressing gown, working at building the flame again. It had gone down considerably since he'd come in the room earlier, and the night was certainly a chilly one.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" He replaced the fire screen after the flame began to grow again, and then rushed back over to jump under the covers.

Sherlock threw off his dressing gown again and quickly gathered Molly against him. He noticed her wince slightly as she shifted over in the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked, eyes wide with concern.

Molly let out a short laugh. "I would venture to say I'm far better than all right, Sherlock."

"You know what I mean." He continued to look seriously at her.

She snuggled closer, kissing his cheek quickly. "Yes I do. You're lovely to be concerned, but I'll be fine, I promise." Molly lifted her head looking at him in mock concern and said sarcastically, "What about you? Are you going to be all right?!"

Sherlock played along and shook his head with eyes wide. "Oh, I cannot say, Molly. It is certainly possible I will not survive this. At the very least, I will never be the same!"

"Well thank you very much!" She giggled and gave him another kiss before sighing and settling against his chest again.

"Remember what I said about wishing we were leaving for London immediately?" he murmured into her now slightly wild hair.

"Mmhm."

"I changed my mind. I think I would prefer to stay right here in this bed for the next week or two."

"Mm, that does sound wonderful." Molly did enjoy the warm little nest she was in and the light that came only from the fireplace across the room. "But just think! We can hide away like this at Baker Street as well!"

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Yes, but that involves leaving this bed and making the actual journey to get there!"

Molly laughed again. "I'm sure you won't always have the benefit of my being amused at you acting like this. But for now, you're incredibly adorable when you're acting like a big child!"

Sherlock turned so he lay facing her. "If I'm so very adorable, perhaps you should kiss me," he said with a sneaky smile.

"Just because you're adorable, doesn't mean I'm not also quite tired. I would actually very much like to get some sleep." She smiled back at him sweetly as she ran her fingers through the curls at the side of his face.

He made a little pouty face. "Molly, you cannot possible look at me like that and then refuse to kiss me. Please, just one kiss and I swear I will leave you be...please, Molly?" He took the puppy eyes to the next level with that last word.

Molly smiled happily to herself. "Well, since you asked so nicely. One little kiss." She scooted a little closer to take his face in her hands and press a warm kiss to his lips.

As she expected, his arms instinctively snaked around her waist to hold her tighter and the one little kiss became much longer than she'd planned. But he did finally pull away and let go of her as he'd promised. By that time, Molly was the one considering grabbing him and pulling him back in. But she was genuinely tired, and felt it would be wise to get some rest.

"Right," he said, taking some breaths and swallowing hard. "There, you see? One kiss. Now we can sleep."

He lay back against his pillow again and Molly put her head on his chest with a contented sigh. "I think I can sleep very happily now. I even accomplished something I didn't think I would be able to."

"What's that?"

Sherlock felt her lips rise in a smile against his chest as she answered.

"It seems I _can_ make you beg."

* * *

Two days, a long carriage ride, and one night at an inn later, and they had finally arrived at Baker Street. It didn't matter that the flat was much smaller than even Molly's home, or that there was nothing grand about it. She still felt like she was walking into a dream world. She was walking into his world, and now she was a part of it. This was her world too.

The happy husband and wife did indeed keep themselves hidden away for some days in the little flat, and mostly in the bed. Although Molly was almost deliriously happy, she did occasionally question if Sherlock was missing his work, because she knew that was one reason why he wanted to be back in the city as soon as possible.

But the truth was that Sherlock was enjoying the break much more than he had anticipated. There was something incredibly freeing about being with his wife, in more ways than one. He always thought that gathering data, cataloguing it, and using it later when it served him best was one of the things that made him happiest. He thought that was what kept him sane. And of course it was still integral to who he was and what he did on a day to day basis. But there was something to be said for shutting that part of his mind off once in a while. When he was with Molly, it wasn't to study her, or figure her out...it was just to _be with her._ That was more than enough. It became clear that his marriage was a physical, emotion, and mental respite that he hadn't even known he needed till then.

But when the day came, as they knew it eventually would, that Inspector Lestrade dropped by to request Sherlock's presence on a murder investigation, he was ready and willing to get back in the game.

And there was something thrilling about not only being sent off with a less than chaste kiss from his wife, but also the prospect of returning home when it was solved. In the past, returning home after a case was a bit of a letdown. Clearly, that would not be the way things worked anymore. Coming home to his wife, recounting the events of a thrilling or frustrating case, sitting with her by the fire, watching her eyes sparkle as she silently enjoyed his playing the violin, falling into bed to give and receive the physical solace that belonged only to each other, waking up to see her still sleeping peacefully beside him or resting on his chest...

It would never be boring. None of it.

In the weeks and months that passed, Sherlock not only enjoyed coming home to his wife, but he also enjoyed involving her in a lot of his work. Inspector Lestrade quickly became accustomed to seeing Mrs. Holmes accompanying her husband on some of the less perilous cases. It was quite a topic of conversation at Scotland Yard. Nobody could quite believe the way the serious, harsh, and often rude detective would gaze lovingly at the small woman by his side. To be honest, they all fell in love with the new Sherlock Holmes. No longer just the brilliant detective, but now also the loving husband.

Sherlock also made sure to introduce Molly to those he worked closely with at Bart's Hospital. She became a favorite very quickly. Dr. Stamford recognized her talent for medicine and science and was always happy to have her accompany Sherlock when he would stop by. Molly became just as much of a fixture at the hospital as her husband was.

They did indeed continue to visit Sherlock's mother in the country on a regular basis. And it was with a lot of excitement that Sherlock and Molly returned to Seaborne that following summer. Even though that visit was planned to be a longer one, stretching into the fall, Sherlock was not expecting it to be tedious. How could he? It could be nothing less than thrilling.

From the first moment, a couple of months after their marriage, when Molly pressed his hand to her still small abdomen and told him how sure she was that their child grew inside her, he knew that nothing would ever be the same. She instantly became more precious to him than she had been before. He hadn't imagined that could be possible. And the first time she grabbed his hand in order to let him feel their child move inside her, he was shocked to feel goose bumps cover his skin and a lump form in his throat. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever experienced. And he knew that was only the beginning.

In the months that followed, Sherlock and Molly set about studying every possible piece of the latest information about pregnancy and child birth that they could get their hands on. It was like the most exciting and beautiful experiment that they had ever worked on together, and regardless of the exact results, they knew they would be happy. This was a creation made purely from love, and as such, there could be no such thing as a failed experiment.

It was a comical scene when they informed the country midwives, who Molly already knew well, that Sherlock insisted on being present through the entire process of labor and birth. The two women's faces turned a bit red and they hardly knew what to say.

"I happen to be the reason he or she is in there," Sherlock said gesturing to his wife's stomach. "I think it only right that I experience the process of them coming out. If you refuse to accommodate, I suppose we will have to make do on our own. I have done the research and I feel confident that I could do your jobs if needed."

Molly couldn't help but smile in amusement the whole time. She couldn't be more pleased that Sherlock wanted to experience every little bit of this with her. And being a woman of science and medicine herself, and knowing what she was about to endure, she agreed it was only right. Why should he miss out on the worst bits? Better that he live it right alongside her, seeing as he was ultimately the cause.

And when the big day came, one crisp September morning, they were more than ready. Of course, that didn't mean it wasn't a bumpy ride as the morning became afternoon, and the afternoon turned to evening.

"Heaven help me, Sherlock, if I ever make it out of this alive, I will _never_ let you touch me again!" she said with her lip quivering at the end of another contraction. She was currently bracing herself on the bed post and groaning softly.

Sherlock glanced briefly over at the two midwives as he patiently ran a cool cloth over Molly's sweaty brow. The two women pursed their lips and made covert little shakes of their head, not only to indicate the fact that his wife's words held little or no weight in the heat of the moment, but also to discourage his making an issue of it.

"We're almost there, Molly. Just a bit longer," he said as calmly as possible, making an effort to ignore her comment as he knew he should.

It wasn't long after that she did indeed get there. When Molly had to push, Sherlock was right there holding her hand till she squeezed so hard it hurt. He was there to watch as the head with a mass of dark curls came through. And when their first baby...a son...was fully born, and laid on his mother's chest, Sherlock knew for sure that he had never done anything better than this. Whatever he accomplished from this day forward, nothing would compare to creating life with Molly.

Molly sobbed as she huddled the little crying boy close to her. She had never been filled with so much love, happiness, and relief.

"You did wonderful, Mrs. Holmes," one of the midwives said as she smiled down at mother and baby. "What a beautiful boy you have. And well done to you, Mr. Holmes. What shall you name him?"

Sherlock and Molly looked at each other and smiled. Molly's tears fell anew as she kissed her son's forehead and said. "Nicholas, after his grandfather. His name is Nicholas Scott Holmes."

Sherlock encircled both his wife and son with his arms and kissed Molly's wet cheek before leaning down to kiss Nicholas' cheek as well. The boy's crying had stopped by then and he was laying there, quiet and contentedly. He was carefully studying what was close enough for him to see, learning the particulars of his mother and father's faces and reacting to the voices that he already knew so well. Soon, he had instinctively made his way to Molly's breast and was happily sucking away, his eyelids drooping a bit.

"Look at him, Sherlock. He's so beautiful," Molly said with more sniffles. She grabbed her husband's hand suddenly and said. "Oh God, this is so amazing, I want to have ten more!"

Sherlock chuckled as he kissed her. "In that case, I do hope you're willing to take back your declaration about me never touching you ever again."

Molly could only laugh and smile through her remnants of tears. She couldn't take her eyes off her son and her husband, and she could only imagine the adventure that their life would now become. It would be an adventure of the very best kind.

Sherlock became a father the instant he had laid eyes on his son Nicholas. If he thought that simply being with Molly brought unlimited joy, spending time with his own child was a completely life changing experience. As the weeks and months went by and he watched as Nicholas' face lit up at the sight of those he loved entering a room, or hear the little peals of laughter when Redbeard would lick his face, Sherlock wondered if it was possible for his heart to literally burst. He wondered how these very things had always seemed so trivial to him, so mundane.

And in hindsight, he was grateful for the supposed boredom that he had dreaded in that fateful summer. That summer had ended up being the very start of his life. He had been so deathly afraid of having an ordinary life. But he learned very quickly that there is no such thing. Life is never ordinary. Life is never boring.

There was nothing boring about the first time he watched Nicholas taking steps across the living room floor in their Baker Street flat. There was nothing boring about his half confused, half wondrous two year old reaction to his little brother, William John Holmes. A few years later, when Sherlock watched his boys playing at Seaborne with Mycroft and Anthea's son Freddy, and John and Mary's daughter Lizzie, and listened to their arguing over who would get to be detective this time, he had to contain the ridiculous grin of joy. Watching these little lives come into their own was far more fascinating than all the experiments he could ever come up with. And there were plenty of little lives to watch.

Mycroft and Anthea had two children, Freddy and later Beatrice. John and Mary had two as well, Lizzie and later Edmund. Sherlock and Molly ended up with three children. There was Nicholas, then two years later came William, and then after a surprisingly uneventful four years, Emma Violet Holmes was born. She immediately became the apple of her brother's eyes and they leapt into the role of proud protectors, right along with Sherlock himself. Sherlock was very sure he would have to keep a close eye on that daughter of his, as she had her mother's intoxicating big brown eyes, her father's thick dark curly hair, and her Aunt Mary's quick wit.

And as he knew would be the case, there wasn't a day that went by when he wasn't absolutely crazy about his beloved wife Molly. With each year that passed, with each child they created, and with every smile she gave him, his contentment grew. He never grew tired of the simple joys of being with her. In the late hours of the night, when the Baker Street flat or their country home was quiet, and the children were asleep, the couple would often enjoy a nostalgic waltz in the dark before retiring. Nothing ever grew stale. Every time he held her in his arms and they looked at each other just as they had many years before, a flame burned. It was the same flame that had always been there, burning for her since that very first summer. And as more and more time went by, it was obvious to Sherlock that this was a flame that would never die.

* * *

Many years later, as the five of them stood together visiting Dr. Nicholas Hooper's grave on the anniversary of his death, Sherlock was once again flooded with memories that seemed like only yesterday. He couldn't help being a bit sentimental anyway. It was the last summer they would all spend together before Nicholas Holmes would be off to school. He had spent enough years excitedly wanting to hear everything about his Uncle John's medical practice, and the medical side of his father's work. He wanted to be a doctor more than anything, ever since childhood.

"Can we walk Blackbeard down the road now?" Emma asked as she bent down to pick up the puppy.

He had been a gift for the children, since they had sadly laid Redbeard to rest the previous year. Sherlock had an almost worse time dealing with it that than the children. So much so that it took a lot of convincing for him to agree on getting a new puppy that summer. Eventually Molly talked him into it, explaining that the children were used to having a dog now, and it would be a shame if they never had that again. He did agree, though their beautiful pet Redbeard would forever hold a place in their hearts. He had been like their first child, and had brought them together in a way that no person would have been able to.

"Yes, you can go ahead with the puppy. We'll be along in a few minutes," Sherlock said to the children. He looked at his eldest son, so grown up now that is scared him. "Nicholas, make sure they don't let him run off."

"Alright, dad." The young man ran off after his siblings and Sherlock was left standing alone with Molly.

He put his arm around her shoulder and she smiled up at him.

"I never stop missing him," Molly said with a sigh. She looked in the direction of their children who were disappearing down the path from the church yard. "He would have loved them."

"Just as much as he loved you. And I finally understand it. Back then it was almost unbelievable to me that a father could love his child that much. But now, it all makes sense. I would give anything and everything for them, and for you. I know exactly how he felt."

Molly nestled her head against his chest and wrapped her arm around his waist. "And I never thought I would know another man who was a father like him. But I was fortunate enough to marry one. I couldn't ask for a better father for my children."

"You mean when I'm not inadvertently ignoring them while thinking in my mind palace or nearly destroying their possessions during experiments?" he asked with a smirk.

"We wouldn't have it any other way. I told you I'd never be bored, and I never have been."

Sherlock looked down at the ground again and after a pause, he said, "Did I ever tell you that I made a promise to your father, right here, the day he was buried."

Molly looked up at him. "Did you? What was that?"

"I swore to him...that you would be happy," he answered softly.

Molly smiled up at him, as some tears clouded her vision. But she could still see him. His adorable half smile he often gave her, and the endearing extra little lines that now lived beside his eyes and lips. She would never stop loving this strange and amazing man.

"Well then...thank you, Mr. Holmes," she said as she snuggled back against his chest. "I do believe you kept your word."

Sherlock leaned down to give her a little kiss. Then he took her hand, they left the cemetery, and they began walking the path together to catch up with their children.

There were certain areas of life that, as a younger man, the brilliant detective never imagined he would grow to appreciate. Crime, science, medicine...those were the sorts of things he believed would keep him company and sustain him through all his days. And although Sherlock Holmes never lost the thrill that could be gained from a challenging case, a particularly clever criminal, or a fascinating experiment, he also realized that the very things he once considered to be _boring_ , the things that he thought didn't matter at all to him...

Were the things that mattered the most.

THE END


End file.
